For Someone's Glory
by Kurusan
Summary: Lancelot Du Lac, was a dead man. He was never meant to walk the earth in corporeal form. He was never meant to encounter any of Earth's Mightiest Heroes - and he most certainly was never meant to get involved in fighting - or in this case dismembering - crime. But hey, when life drags you kicking and screaming out of the afterlife, you make due.
1. Issue 1 - Stranger In a Strange Land

"Thank you very much Lance." Said the kind older woman who lived two doors down from him.

"No problem Ma'am. Everyone needs help from time to time." He said, smiling piously at her. Lance had just recently moved in to this apartment building. The lobby doors were poorly put together and old, the lock so shoddily made that most of the residents found tugging on it once was enough to initiate the locks fail safe and click the door open. The carpets in the halls, once a vibrant red fit for the hall of any king, had faded and were covered in years of vomit and blood from the less than savory residents of the neighborhood. And most relevant of all to Lance's present situation - the elevators only worked infrequently.

"Nonsense!" chided the old woman as he hefted the box of her valuables, carefully navigating the stacks of boxes lining the narrow entry way and placing it on the floor next to its brethren.

"With the elevators out of service I don't know _how_ was going to get all my things up here. It's the tenth floor after all." she said warmly, stepping in after him and closing the door now that the last box was finally inside her new apartment. She was a pleasant old woman, if not necessarily pleasant to look at. She had wispy grey hair that was thin to the point of being nearly immaterial, and small beady eyes that reminded Lance of a rats. Even with all that though, she exuded a sort of pleasant motherliness that he sorely missed.

"I'm sure anyone would have stopped to help you ma'am." He said, straightening and swiping a forearm across is forehead. He wasn't sweating - none of this had been heavy to him, but it was important to keep appearances. So he'd strained, and groaned, but made a point of never complaining. As a man, once Lance had decided to do something, he did it. There was no point in making the people around you feel bad because of your own choices. That was just the kind of man Lance Lake was.

"I doubt that." the woman said with a snort. "This isn't small town nowhere you know dear. This is Manhattan. No one here cares about anyone else here."

Lance frowned. He knew intellectually that she was generalizing, and that the people of the city were probably as varied in morality as they were in height, weight, or any other unit of measure. But it certainly _felt_ like she was right. His mind flashed to the first few days he had spent out in the city, trying to get his bearings.

 _There were so many people. So many things happening. So much noise and moving around. His home, his true home, had once been like this in a way. The peddlers hawking their wares and the people drifting about the roads on their business. But never on such a scale as this. He estimated that there might be more people in this one spot this..._

 _He glanced at a sign hanging overhead from a blinking street light._

 _This Broadway street, this single road that stretched as far as even his formidable eyes could see, might contain more people than some cities he was accustomed to._

 _"Oi, you're in the way bud." A bulbous nosed man said, bumping into him and distracting him from his reverie._

 _"My apologies I -" He said automatically, shifting out of the mans way amidst the sea of people flowing around him. Being bumped into hadn't moved him, or even really hurt - he was too strong for that, but if he was in the way it was only courteous that he moved. But before he could even finish speaking the man had vanished in the crowd._

 _"Hey ya jerk!" Growled a the woman behind him, who his sudden shifting had pushed him in to._

 _"I -" he stammered._

 _"Fuck off!" "Jerk!" "Dick."_

 _Every movement, every step, every action elicited a reaction. Each one moving on without stopping to do anything but hurl insults at him. Eventually, he had just... stopped moving. He was in the way still true, but he did not know where to go, or what he should do, and he had bothered fewer people still than when he tried to move out of the way._

"I'm sure there are still good people out there Miss Abbot." Lance said pleasantly, shaking off the remembrance.

"As you like ." The old woman said, not unkindly. He smiled ruefully at her then perked up.

"There's that Spiderman guy right? He zips around saving people." He mentioned hopefully.

"Bah. A menace I say. Why, my friend knows someone who heard of a fellow that Spiderman beat up once!" She said. Lance... didn't know what to say to that. It seemed like such a long and improbable chain for the information to cross that he wasn't entirely sure it was believable in the first place.

"You're probably right Miss Abbot." he said with a smile, then made slowly for the door. If his smile was slightly more strained, or his voice any more terse, then the old woman certainly didn't notice. She stepped out of his way, then paused mid step.

"Hang on just a minute there. Can't let the man who helped me go home empty handed after all." She said, and scooted off to the kitchen, darting around the boxes laying about her apartment with a spryness that no woman her age had any right to. When she returned she was using both hands to carry a six pack of silver cans to him.

"Here you go my dear. I know it's the middle of the day, but I'm sure a big strong fellow like you can handle his alcohol just fine. Just don't go to work too sloshed." She said, finishing with a conspiratorial whisper and a sly grin. Lance grinned back at her. True he couldn't really get drunk anymore - not without imbibing far more of the drink than his physical body could contain anyway - but he still enjoyed the taste. It was different than his homelands brew, but somehow the simple fact that people still drank was a comfort to him. Many things could change, but at their core, humans it seemed, did not.

"Thanks ma'am. I'm volunteering down at the shelter today, but one for the road should fine." He offered, taking the six pack and pulling one can free to open and sip at. The cold beer sliding down his throat was almost as satisfying as having helped the woman in the first place. Almost.

His task complete, and his presence no longer needed, Lance waved a final goodbye to his new neighbor and stepped out into the hall. It was only a few paces to reach his own door on the same floor, the dingy bronze plate on the front denoting it as 1003 - just two doors down from Miss Abbots 1001. She old woman smiled knowingly at him while he went, all the way up until he opened his door and disappeared inside.

 **'SHE IS dANgEroUS. selFIsH. DeStROY HEr NoW bEFoRE sHE caN uSe Us!'** Screamed the ever present voice in his head. It was cracked and distorted, as though it was coming from a speaker that had been dialed to a volume above what the device could physically sustain.

'Now now. You say that about _everyone_ we meet.' Politely pointed out the... other... voice in his head. Honestly, it was something of a headache to have to deal with. He had long since gotten accustomed to it, but that didn't necessarily make it pleasant - just _tolerable._

Lance rolled his eyes, and ignored the ongoing discourse between the two voices. He kicked his shoes off in the entry, and walked forward, turning to the left and into his small kitchen. He placed most of the six pack into the fridge, pausing only to withdraw a second can for consumption as he downed the majority of the first one. Then he padded out into his living room and plopped down on his second - probably third actually - hand couch. It had been a gift from the people at the shelter, when he had managed to go from poor homeless volunteer to just a poor volunteer. Most of his possessions had stories like that. Knickknacks and furniture that were either donated or thrown away. One mans trash and all that.

Lane leaned back on the threadbare couch, glancing at the clock by his old television. It was just a bit past noon - which meant that he had about an hour and a half before his shift at the the shelter started. Content for the moment, he closed his eyes, and let his consciousness fade, trusting in the tiny alarm in his watch to wake him up. That or the voices. The voices were pretty on top of things in that respect.

 _Men surrounded him. Men in billowing red robes, each one waving and chanting. Each chant was different, each stanza a small part of the whole incantation. He was laying naked in the center of the room, a huge circle writ red with the blood of some bitch the men had pulled off the streets. It sucked, but that was life. Sometimes bad shit happened to people. People like him. He'd had it all. A career, a fiance, a home. Then the fucking spider had taken it all away from him. Ripped it away without even really noticing._

 _But he got better. He found his savior in the bellfry. He found it, and could use it. Together they were going to get back at the spider. The one who had ruined them. Spoiled them, left them nothing but damaged goods. No one else would take them, so they took each other. And they reveled in it._

 _Until they hadn't anymore. Because the god damn web head couldn't even let him have that. He drifted for a while after that. Lived from bar to bar on the funds he had saved, just barely making it through any given night. Then the men had approached. They told him they had a way. They could give him the power to take revenge on the menace of New York. Then they'd see. They'd all see._ _ **He**_ _was the better man. They were going to get his power back._

 _They were going to get him his_ _ **other**_.

'It's time to wake. We have responsibilities.' the pleasant voice whispered in his ear, it's words somehow too dire compared to what they were describing. It was accompanied of course by the soft ringing of his wristwatch, vibrating away on his hand and causing a tinny noise where it touched the empty beer can loosely wedged between himself and the arm of his couch.

"Mmm," he groaned, rising and stretching. It wasn't really necessary - his powers meant that he was almost always in peak physical condition provided he ate and drank enough water not to die of starvation or thirst. But it felt damn good just to stretch while basking in the mid afternoon light of the sun. Warm and welcoming, dozens of meters above the bustle of the city on the tenth floor of his apartment.

He allowed himself a moment to relish the feeling, then rolled his shoulders and walked back to the front door, sliding his feet into his trusty work boots. These too were a gift, though not from the shelter. When he had first arrived in the city, he was a wreck. No money, no clothes, no home. But the shelter had been a shining light to him. Through it he had made acquaintances. Friends even. Not everyone who was homeless was such because they refused to work. Some simply couldn't. And many of them had their own friends, there own connections. A narcoleptic man might not be suited to working on a construction sight, but that didn't mean he wasn't still friends with the foreman after all.

So Lance had found himself in an interesting situation. He was willing to work, he just didn't have a resume, a work history or... well... any I.D at all really. The foreman had been nice, and Lance suspected, was perfectly aware of his somewhat superhuman constitution. But the short gruff man never once brought it up or asked Lance to do more than the other workers did. He just grabbed an old pair of boots, threw them at Lance, and reminded him to follow the safety guidelines.

So naturally Lance had worked twice as hard as anyone else. Not just because he could, but because he felt that it was only right to repay such kindness in any way he could.

The trip to the shelter wasn't long. A natural consequence of living in one of the poorest neighborhoods in the city was that he wasn't all that far away from the F.E.A.S.T center in the first place. It should - under normal circumstances - take only a short walk of about ten minutes to reach it from his home.

Unfortunately, Lance found himself well outside the bounds of what he would consider 'normal circumstances' within five minutes of leaving the building.

At the time, he was walking jauntily towards the shelter, humming a wordless off key tune that many of his old friends would have harangued him for. They were not around any longer, but just the pleasant memory of their good natured ribbing was enough to buoy his spirits. Being mid afternoon, and fairly close to lunch time, the streets were well full of people traveling to eateries, or simply stepping out for a cigarette. By rights, dozens of people should have noticed it well before he had.

"Hey come on, don't be like that. You need a place to sleep, I need a person to sleep with. I've got money y'know?" slurred a rude voice from an alleyway just ahead of him. He slowed his gait, glancing around. He wasn't accustomed to cities, and had found fairly early on that many of the things he would have sought to step forward and fight were simply common place and normal here. He wasn't sure he liked that - but he also wasn't here to tell anyone else how to live their life.

"Get off." A cold flat voice said from inside the alley. It sounded like it belonged to a young woman, which was completely at odds with the hard edge in its tone. Lance glanced around him once more, looking for a sign that someone else had heard. He noticed quite immediately that pretty much _everyone_ in the vicinity had heard. They had simply chosen to respond by clearing space around the mouth of the alley, and doing anything but look inside of it. There were disapproving looks, and unhappy scowls, but not one of these people wanted to _act_.

"Hey listen I'm trying to be _nice_ about this." The groggy male voice crooned, before turning suddenly hard. "I don't have to be."

"Neither do -" the womans voice responded, but Lance had stopped listening by that point. He understood on an intellectual level that minding his own business was probably the cultural norm here. But while he was willing to fall into line and blend in normally, there were simply certain ethical standards he had to maintain. Not just as a man, but as a human being. So he jogged forward and into the alley, finding a burly looking man in tattered old coat looming over a young girl with long unkempt black hair, vaguely asian features, and a grim set to her face that told him everything he needed to know about what was going to happen next if he didn't get involved.

Using perhaps just a bit more strength that he had to, he leapt forward stomping on the ground to halt himself behind the man, who's arm he grabbed in one free hand, pull him off the girl.

"Leave the kid alone alright?" He said firmly but politely. If there was any chance he could get through this without any more violence than was necessary, then he would. He was not a naturally violent man after all.

 **'bLeeD FOR me!'** The voice howled in his head.

Well. Most of him preferred non violence anyway.

The girl looked as surprised as the man was by his sudden appearance, but the man recovered and reacted first, pulling a knife from an inner pocket and waving it menacingly in his face.

"Mind your own business cock sucker." the disheveled man growled at him, and as Lance got a closer look at his face, he realized he was either for very high, very drunk, or both. His eyes were so bloodshot they practically didn't have any white left in them, and he shook violently just standing still. As it was, he was pretty sure the girl could have gotten away even if he _hadn't_ stepped in. Not that he would every allow himself to be apathetic in the face of such situations. Not when it counted.

"I really don't think -" Lance said, stepping back and taking a stance. Before he could even finish talking, the man lunged at him, straight past the girl - who promptly stuck a foot out to trip him. It was such a comical blunder that Lance nearly failed to capitalize on the mistake. However, for a number of reasons - not the least of which being his own powers - he did not. With a single fluid motion, he judged the direction of the mans fall and shifted forward, lightly tapping his knee against his foes head. The slight amount of force he'd put behind the strike, combined with the downward pull of gravity was more than enough to knock the inebriated man out cold.

Lance resisted the urge to chuckle. It wouldn't do to gloat. Then he turned towards the girl - she couldn't have been older than 14 - and froze. She hadn't moved from where had been standing against the wall of the alley, but she was _looking_ at him now. Appraising him. Before he could think anything of it his body settled back into a defensive stance, and he pushed off with his foot to create space between himself and her. His confusion must have been writ large on his face, because she smirked at him then and gave him an approving nod. Like he'd made the right choice.

"Um. Are you alright?" He said after a second, slowly loosening his stance when no attack was forthcoming. It was strange. For a moment - just a single moment - he didn't feel like what he was looking at was a young girl. He felt like he was in an alley with an Apex Predator. A monster that could as soon tear his heart out and eat it as deign to notice his presence.

"M'fine." The girl said flatly, her face returning to a flat stare that betrayed no emotion.

"Alright... do you have somewhere to go or...?" Lance asked, taking in the rags the girl was wearing and assuming she was one of the many, many, homeless children that unfortunately frequented the neighborhood. The girls face instantly took on an aggressive cast, and she darted a gaze down to the unconscious man and back up to him as though to highlight the similarities between their offers.

"No." She said, although Lance got the distinct impression that she was refusing something he wasn't actually asking her about.

"What? No! I work at the homeless shelter. I'm just on my way there now. If your hungry you could tag along..." He said, then trailed off when the girl started sniffing the air around them, like she was trying to decide if the stench of the alley agreed with her or not. After a few moments she wrinkled her nose and shrugged.

"Fine." She said, another one word answer.

"Great. I'm Lance by the way." he said, stepping forward and offering her his hand to shake. She merely glanced down at it, then stepped over the unconscious man, ignoring the gesture.

"Laura." was all she said, passing by him with a ghostly swiftness that sent a chill down his spine, and resolved him to make sure she wasn't standing directly behind him at any point during the trip. His hand fell loosely at his side, and he glanced down at his erstwhile aggressor snoring loudly in a puddle of water. He knelt down and turned the man onto his side so he wouldn't suffocate, then rose and walked on after Laura.

"Sooo... do you only speak in one word sentences or what?" He asked jokingly, gesturing for her to follow him out of the alley.

She stared at him for a few seconds before saying; "Not really." and followed him out into the bustling streets.

'Oh good, she has a sense of humour.' Lance thought sarcastically, but said nothing, instead only allowing a rye smile to plaster itself to his face. He had a feeling today was going to be one of those days.

-ooo-

The center was, as always, a busy place. Lance had been told at once point that it used to be a fairly large gym before it had been bought by its current owner and converted for use as a homeless shelter. If so, Lance thought it must have been an extremely successful gym to take up so much space. It was practically a castle unto itself, with several floors and entryways, all built in a halo shape around the gymnasium area, which contained dozens of cheap bunks and folding tables. People milled about, talking to one another, laughing and joking. Several of them sat together playing games of checkers, or simply eating. A number of them waved hello to him, and sent Laura only cursory glances as he passed on his way to the kitchens.

Laura wasn't the first stray kid he had brought here. And she probably wouldn't be the last.

There was a feeling of... not quite family, but _warmth_ to the center. Like the bonds of community were somehow stronger here, among societies refuse, than it was out and about in the city. He supposed that would make sense. It was only in the fires of hardship that great friendships were truly born. It was only when times were toughest that you could look around, and truly know that the people with you were your allies.

Laura seemed more put off by the atmosphere than anything else. Like she wasn't sure how to react to the simple community that had been built up here. Lance had been like her once. Alone and unsure of what to do with himself. Completely without a direction, or guidance. But he had found all that and more here in the F.E.A.S.T center, and that was why - no matter how long he lived, no matter how much he grew, he would always come back here to help others. If there was any one place he considered home in the city, even more so than his own apartment - hard earned as it was - it was here.

"Ah Lance! Brought in another one I see. And a girl at that. tut tut." Came the mocking voice of his immediate superior here at the center. F.E.A.S.T had many, many unpaid volunteers, and a very small number of actually paid positions. Those with paid positions were there mostly to organize everyone else, and keep the books. May Parker was not among those people. She held one of those positions, but never would she accept a dime for her assistance. She merely took pleasure in the simple act of helping others, and Lance loved the little old lady for it.

"Come on , you know me - " He said happily before the woman cut him off, walking ahead of him and pulling the door to the kitchens open for him and Laura. Lance would have found it highly amusing if the less annoying voice in his head didn't balk so suddenly at the idea of a lady holding the door for him.

"Yes yes. It's your duty to help and all that. I swear you and my Peter would get along famously. Pity you always seem to disappear when he shows up." she chirped, glancing at him suspiciously.

"Hah. Well. You know how it is." Lance said, some nervousness creeping into his voice unbidden.

~

 _The chant grew louder and louder, and slowly he began to feel it, feel_ _ **something**_ _filling the void where his other used to be. It swelled in strength, and he felt himself grinning a feral grin, fully prepared to use this new power to rip Spiderman limb from limb. And when he was done? When he was done he would track Parker's puny aunt back to her little home, and he would tear_ _ **her**_ _apart too._

 _Then he stopped. Something... something was wrong. The space reserved for his other, the one his new power was filling - it was overflowing now. Being filled with too much. Being torn apart by what they were doing to him. He wanted to scream. To yell. To beg the men to stop. Say he had enough, say he didn't need more than this. But he could not. He was trapped, naked and cold on the floor, quivering violently like he had touched a live wire and was paralyzed by the current._

 _His mind began to unravel, to fall apart to make room for the new presence, the new_ _ **thing**_ _. But he held on. Desperately he held on. An image of his hated foe manifested in his minds eye, and it was all he could do to hang on to it. It was all he could do to use his hatred to struggle through the pain._

 _'Peter Parker, I'm coming for you.' He raged internally._

Shaking off the memory, Lance smiled at May, who bustled ahead of him, pulling pre-made packages of food from the fridge and laying them out so he could prepare them to be heated up.

"Go ahead and find a seat Laura, I'll make sure you get the first one." Lance said, gesturing to a pile of chairs in the corner that hadn't been able to fit in the buildings storage. Personally, Lance thought that was just an excuse. The truth was, it was just easier to get them from here than it was to move them too and from storage. The number of people in the center was in constant flux, and so while it was important to keep them seated, it was equally important to remove unused chairs due to space concerns.

"Mm." Laura hummed tonelessly, walking to the corner and pulling up a seat. She sat in it the way a feral cat might find a place to rest. Never permanent, never fully relaxed. Always just enough leverage and room to quickly coil and leap away should something unexpected occur. Lance had seen the behavior before of course. It was pretty common in street kids who were constantly expecting to have to fight for their next meal, or even just for their own safety. But Laura was different. She was less like a stray tabby cat, and more like a wild lion that had inexplicably wandered into the city unbeknownst to anyone else. His instincts practically screamed at him to dodge every time she made a sudden movement. Thankfully, he was not an animal - and therefore not forced to rely purely on instincts to function.

Laura was a lonely kid who needed help. Whatever else she was, that was definitely true.

Several minutes passed as he fell in to his work. Remove the plastic film, place on a tray, put the tray in the oven at six packages, heat for ten minutes, remove, repeat. True to his word, he made sure to hand Laura one of the first meals, which she scarfed down with gusto. By the time had had returned with an empty food cart to grab the next tray of meals she was hungrily eyeing the oven containing the next batch, empty plastic container still in hand.

Technically, the center had limited resources. They really couldn't afford to feed the same person twice in one meal. But in a way Lance felt partially responsible for Laura, at least while she was with him anyway. So when May left the room for a moment, he quickly slid her another container, placing a finger over his lips and whispered "Sssh," at her with a wink and a half smile.

After that she just sort of watched him. She never moved from her seat. Never got up to try and help. Never spoke to him. Just watched him, shiny black pupils following his trip as he moved back and forth from the kitchen to the common area. That lasted for about an hour and half before all hell broke loose.

He was just returning from one of his nigh uncountable monotonous trips through the common room that it occurred. No sooner than a single one of his feet had landed in the kitchen, dinner cart pushed ahead of him, than a nasily voice wrang out in the building.

 **"Good evening,** ** _scum_** **!"** The voice crooned in a nasally unattractive tone. He could dimly hear the whirring hum of turbines spinning, and the tang of exhaust fumes filling the air in the suddenly silent common area. Lance halted his movement looking up in surprise at Laura who looked more curious than anything else. Her head was cocked to one side, listening.

 **"I'm sure you all think I'm about to give some grand villainous speech! Unfortunately for you, I am not** ** _here_** **for** ** _you_** **."** The voice cackled. Then there was a dull thudding noise, followed immediately by the clear sound of an explosion - which was followed immediately by panicked screams.

 **"I'm here for** ** _SPIDERMAN!"_** The voice howled. Suddenly there was even more yelling, but not from the beleaguered inhabitants of the center - no, Lance, who quickly ducked into the kitchen and was now watching through the tiny windows in the double doors leading there, watched with growing horror as dozens of men in of all things _goblin_ masks swarmed into the shelter. Each of them carried a gun of some kind, and all of them were firing haphazardly into the crowd of fleeing people. In the center of the room was crater the size of a car, with would paneled flooring dangling from its edges and blackened ash ringing its epicenter.

Hovering over it all, was a man almost everyone New Yorker could recognize by sight. The Green Goblin. The heinous criminal who had - over the years - torn more than his fair share of bloody swathes across the city. The criminal who was almost always stopped by Spiderman, even if the papers all refused to acknowledge that little fact. His skin was a sickly snot green, which was contrasted horribly by the royal purple armor and hat he wore. In each of his hands was an orange pumpkin shaped device that glowed ominously as he juggled them back and forth. At his feet was a bizarre hovering contraption, each of it's wings bore a razor sharp edge, and it's underside was practically covered in guns and other esoteric weaponry that Lance couldn't have recognized if he had a textbook on it.

But beyond all that, Lance could only stare forlornly at the bodies. The corpses of what once were people, victim to the first attack launched by the Goblin.

"Laura. You need to run." He said, his voice sounding hollow in his ears. Like he was standing far, far away from his body.

'Stand and fight.' Commanded the voice.

 **'haIL And KILl!'** Cried another.

He couldn't think. Couldn't focus. He barely noticed Laura slip from her seat behind him and pad towards another door. He didn't hear the door close behind him, but he hoped she could get somewhere safe. Hoped the Goblins men had only come in through the front door of the building.

All he could think about, were the bodies. His hand shakily lifted to the door, his fury slowly building with each movement he took. Before he could think to actually push the doors open though, the slammed inward, sending him stumbling back. Two men in Goblin masks began to pepper him with bullets. Bullets that tore through his merely human flesh. He lost a finger. A lung. Two bullets zipped through one of his thighs.

Lance all but crumpled to the ground, staring stupidly up at the two men as they laughed between themselves and hopped forward. One of them put the Barrel of a gun to his head, cackling maniacally the whole time.

He watched the empty blackness inside the barrel moving towards him in slow motion. Sensed the minute the mans finger began to depress the trigger. Knew that that what happened next would be pretty for no one.

And then the man was sent rocketing away, as Laura launched herself at him feet first in a drop kick maneuver she easily turned into a kip up, coming to a crouching halt at the feet of the second Goblin thug.

"D-don't." Lance gurgled, blood spilling from his lips as he struggled to draw breath. Both Laura and the thugs turned to him at that, hostilities pausing as they took in his seemingly dying form.

"Don't do it." He said, somewhat more firmly.

"Or what dead guy?" chuckled the thug Laura had send across the room with her kick.

"I'll get _angry_." Lance warned them, painfully aware that he was not, in fact, negotiating from a position of power.

"Fuck me, dude thinks he's the Hulk or something. What a riot!" Laughed one of the men. Laura took that opportunity to lung forward, swiping something at his ankles that took both of the mans feet off in a single pass. he slid to to ground with a wet thunk and then immediately began to scream, obviously in terrible pain. But Lance saw something Laura apparently hadn't considered. He saw the other thugs gun rise, almost in slow motion.

 _He blinked. Once, then twice, then a third time just to be certain of what he was experiencing. He had been summoned. Only... it was an irregular summoning. Something was very, very wrong. He could fill his body - and that was, on it's own quite strange, having a body that is - shifting and popping beneath him. Rearranging itself so that the flesh matched the spirit inside it. His armor took form, summoned unconsciously from the ether in response to the realization that he was naked. He was staring a bright light. It wasn't the sun, but neither was it a torch. Dazed as he was he found it curiously fascinating to look at._

 _'It's a lightbulb numbnuts.' A gruff voice barked in his head._

 _'A light - ' 'So bright - ' 'How is it made?' 'Why is it there?'_ _ **'GRAAAAAGH!'**_

 _His mind was immediately filled with mental static as hundreds of thousands of voices filled the silence, almost drowning out the real, physical sounds he was only just now becoming aware of._

 _"Is he okay?" A voice in the darkness surrounding him asked hesitantly._

 _"It's unlikely. We didn't just summon some lesser demon here gentleman. This is the big one. A great evil unlike any the world has ever seen." A stoic sounding man responded._

 _"He's just... lying there." Another voice pointed out._

 _"Gentleman, we chose Eddie Brock for this task because we know he has a limited experience with otherworldly entities riding along with him. Give him a moment to adjust." The stoic man once more suggested._

 _Oh. Oh god. These petty sorcerers had erred greatly. He was accustomed to be summoned from the Throne. It had happened before, and it would happen again. Across a thousand different timelines, in a thousand different scenarios, he had been summoned. He understood the mechanics, he was familiar with the reasons why it happened._

 _But never had someone done something as completely irredeemable as this to him._

 _'Be stopped -' 'Such insolence!' 'Where am I!?'_ _ **'KILL THEM ALL!"**_

 _'SHUTUP!' he half whined, half screamed into the recesses of his own mind. There was another chorus of grumbles, and that peculiar yell, and then most of the voices faded away. Distantly he could sense a conflict there, a battle for supremacy, and then two voices metaphorically stepped forward in his mind._

 _'It seems we have found ourselves in something of a situation.' The stern voice noted._

 ** _'Gruh... gah!'_** _decried the pained voice of the other._

 _"This is wrong." He said aloud, drawing the attention of everyone in the room._

 _'Truly. It appears as though we have been forcibly torn from the Throne.' agreed the stoic voice, the him that would have been had he been summoned as a Saber._

 _ **'UnbEaRABLe iNSoLeNCE!'**_ _groaned the him that would have been had he been summoned as a Berserker._

 _"Are you quite alright ?"_

 _He wasn't. He truly, truly wasn't. He was trapped in a physical body with every possible version of himself from across every possible iteration of his own timeline. He had be ripped from his true resting place upon the Throne, essentially invalidating his entire legend. His entire existence. He had been forcibly ripped from the afterlife, and now he had no knowledge, no idea of if it was possible to ever go back. A black haze began to ripple from his armor, and his helmet formed over his face. He sat up for the first time and really looked at the room he was in. He took in the five men in the room with a single, red tinged glance. He noted the sacrificial dagger laying on a table nearest their leader using only the barest fraction of a second. He felt his rage boil over._

 _'_ _ **'**_ _"NO!"_ _ **'**_ _' Three voices cried as one._

 _And that, is how five nameless fools died._

 _It is how Eddie Brock, died._

 _It is how Lancelot Du Lac, was once more born into the world of men._

Laura noticed it before anyone else did. The sudden pressure that her heightened senses could, if she was dumming it down, be loosely described as 'killing intent'. She had only just oriented on the man with the gun, a plan in mind. His injured companion wouldn't be a problem. She could unsheathe a claw and tear through his spinal column on the way to his companion. She would suffer some gunfire, but not nearly enough to stop her from reaching her target, and certainly not enough to stop her from killing him.

Only she didn't get a chance to do any of that. Because the awkward tall guy who she had bummed a meal from _moved_. Laura was a mutant. She had enhanced damn well everything, and the training to back it up. She could see and react to people firing bullets at her. There was very little she would reasonably describe as 'too fast to see'.

And yet plain as day right before her, the tall man - Lance he said his name was - had vanished. And so had the heads of both of the men in the room. They hadn't been cut off either. They looked less like they had been decapitated and more like they had been punched so hard that the muscle and bone had more or less disintegrated. The bodies fell to the ground, a motion that was painfully slow to Laura as she watched this new threat turn its head towards her. Intellectually, she realized this was probably Lance. There wasn't a lot of wiggle room for that deduction to be anything but true. One minute Lance was there, the next, this black armored, smokey... thing.

But for the life of her, she couldn't reason out what she was looking at. Her vision, sharpened by her power and years of training, just sort of slid off it. Like she didn't _want_ to look at it. With great effort she managed to look at the things face, and found only a single glowing red slit where the eyes a man should have been. It stared balefully at her for a moment before blurring past her, ripping apart the kitchen doors as it passed. She hurriedly followed after it, curiosity and self preservation warring within her. On the one hand, it hadn't killed her, or well, _tried_ to kill her. On the other, it was clearly dangerous as all hell.

Curiosity however, won out, and she scampered to shattered kitchen doors to look out at what was going on. To call it a bloodbath would be putting it lightly. The _thing_ had acquired a gun from somewhere - probably one of the men it had just killed - and was standing protectively over a dazed May Parker. Where it turned the muzzle of it's gun, huge furrows were torn in its enemies and the surrounding walls. The impacts looked less like bullet holes and more like cannonballs had crashed into them.

 **"Ah so some other** ** _hero_** **\- urk!'** The Green Goblin laughed down at the _thing_ only to be rudely interrupted when it used that inhuman speed to appear in the air before him, a single fist crashing brutally into the green skinned villains chest. The Goblin flew away so fast someone with poorer kinetic vision might think he had turned invisible. But Laura could see it. Could detect the sound of bones crunching, and tracked the villains flight into an office on an upper floor.

Seemingly no longer interested in the Goblin, the blackened _thing blurred_ again, returning to its position by May. It glanced about the room as though confused by the sudden lack of attackers before it realized that most of the surviving thugs had put down their weapons and removed their masks to cower on the floor with there hands in the air.

Laura was almost disappointed. Did she enjoy killing? Not in the slightest. Did she recognize the need for it? Absolutely. At the end of the day, these were bad men. Being arrested wouldn't fix them, it would just send them to a prison where they could learn how to be better criminals, from _worse_ men. Unfortunately, Laura knew better than most what any standard Hero save maybe the Punisher would do in this moment.

Which was why she was taken aback when the gun wielding mans hands blurred, and all the surrendering Goblin thugs disintegrated into a fine red mist. She stared dumbfounded at the carnage in front of her, but didn't get much more than a few seconds to appreciate the ruthlessness of it all - because the Goblin had returned.

He hobbled out of the broken remains of the office and glared down at the man who's body exuded that mysterious black smoke. Then without further warning, his glider - which had not moved from its original position - rotated, aiming itself, and all it's weapons at the being and May. She thought at first to try and leap forward, to try and at least save the old woman who had helped feed her. But she needn't have bothered.

With a quick leap, the thing was atop the glider, and wherever it touched, the blackness, the _corruption_ that oozed from it suffused the machine. Within mere moments, the entire glider had turned pitch black, with red pulsing veins of light running all across it. Suddenly the vehicle, which had already looked quite menacing, looked positively _demonic_. The _thing_ resettled itself atop the glider, and then turned it in the air to face a now panicking goblin. Guns whirred to life, missiles slid out of hidden panels, and the Goblin - who Laura wouldn't previously have been able to describe as anything but hideous, look positively perplexed. He hammered away at something on his wrist, his actions growing more and more frantic.

And then all the weapons began to fire at once.

The rear end of the room all but imploded, concrete and and glass vanishing in a continuous burst of detonations that slagged everything of note in the direction the glider was facing. But still the Goblin remained, now hanging from white rope several yards away from the wave of destruction that had rained down from his own vehicle. No, not rope, _web_.

"Another failed experiment Gobby boy?" came a mischievous laugh from across the room that stopped when the _thing_ ignored it, merely rotating it's vehicle and pointing it at the hanging form of the Goblin, who began to struggle against his restraints with a new fervor.

 **"Not one of mine Spider!"** The Goblin yelled petulantly. The engine on the glider began to whir to life, and for a moment the sheer amount of thrust being generated look strangely at odds with how perfectly still the thing was. Then the black monster hopped away from it's purloined ride, and it shot forward, bladed wingtips leveled squarely at the Goblin. Once more a web shot forth, and Laura was able to follow it to the ceiling where a red and blue clothed man tug hard at the dangerous vehicle, causing it to swerve out of the Goblins path and embed itself solidly in the nearby wall.

"What have we learned?" Called New York's very own Spiderman, kicking off from the ceiling and into a kick reinforced by what had to be super strength and agility. Just like the monster, he blurred for a moment to Laura, and she thought that that was it. The fight was over. But then the thing moved again, whipping around and grasping the Spiderman by his outstretched leg so fast it was more akin to teleportation than physical movement. Just as fast, the thing hurled Spiderman into the ground at it's feet, cracking yet more of the damage floorboards.

"The hell are you?" Whined Spiderman as he flipped up and away from the follow up kick that would have turned him into a screaming invalid.

 **"We. Are. lanceLoT."** Crowed the thing in a deep, almost metallic growl.

"Oh. Well shit. That's new." Quipped the Spider.

Yes, Laura thought in response to the pithey one liner. Yes it was.

 **-ooo-**

 **Here's one I've been fiddling with the idea behind in my free time. Ironically, I originally was going to use Diarmuid and do a Harem just for funsies because there's really nothing more amusing to me than a character who's power is functionally turning women in to Yandere's. But then I got to thinking about Lancelots ability to basically steal and buff any weapon, and started musing on the sheer number of hilariously dangerous weapons exist in the Marvel universe.**

 **The result is as you can see.**

 **Couple things. No Laura is not a love interest in this story. She's like 14 or 15 at the point when she's living on the streets, and Lancelot is... considerably older. Another point I'm considering is whether or not I still want to do a Harem of Yandere women because well... at the end of the day I find that highly amusing - but don't really have the means to make it make sense at the moment. No love spot and all.**

 **We'll see I suppose.**

 **I like this story but it's kind of just a side project for me. Something I pop over to now and then when I'm having trouble writing for Throne of Heroes or when I'm in a particularly brutal mood. It should come as no surprise that a lot of the fights Lancelot will get into are going to end up being hilariously violent or curbstompy, which is kind of the opposite of what usualy ends up happening in my other fic. Lawful Good Characters and all that stuff. I guess what I'm saying is this will probably update pretty infrequently. I'm not as well read about the Marvel universe as I could be, so I don't really know what characters and stories I want to tell here besides a sort of vague series of moments I want to write about but feel need the appropriate build up to have any impact.**

 **If you like it though, please do let me know, either in a private message or as a review.**

 **And as always**

 _ **Thanks for**_ _ **reading.**_


	2. Issue 2 - A Blackened Heart

"Woah there. I didn't think the round table had a psychopath on the payroll!" Spider-Man quipped, as the armored titan stomping towards him jerkily lowered itself into a crouch and picked up a... chair?

Spider-Man leapt away from the lunging attacking the black monstrosity launched at him. Landing in a handspring he pushed away from the floor with superhuman strength, flinging himself towards the ceiling and thrusting his arms outward. Webbing shot from his wrists, covering the things face. Lancelot howled with rage, and raised a hand to viciously rip the sticky substance away from his helmet. The red slit of his face plate flared with dim light and it threw the chair towards his aggressor. Th shattered, taking with it a sizeable portion of the floor, even as Spider-Man once more evaded.

"With moves like that the WWE would probably do you okay though." Spider-Man drawled, landing in a crouch several feet away. The monster once more turned towards him, and Spider-Man was struck by how _wrong_ it was. His vision slid off of it like water from a ducks back, and for reasons he couldn't explain, his spider sense just wouldn't react to the thing. To make matters worse, the damn thing was fast. So fast that even with his advanced reflexes he was barely keeping up. He doubted even _that_ would be the case but Lancelot seemed almost hesitant to attack him. Each of its attacks and movements were telegraphed, and every motion was stunted, as if it was trying to stop it's attacks at the last second. Without that brief moment of hesitation, Spider-Man figured he would have been paste by now.

 **"Haha!"** Cried the Goblin half laughter and half cough from where he was hanging across the room. **"How does it feel Spider!? You caught me** ** _and you still lose!_** **"** chortled the green skinned man. Spider-Man ignored him. He didn't really know if this was Norman or Harry, and really, he didn't care. He had only a singular focus right now, and that was finding a way out of his present situation. Still, he paused to fire a blast of webbing at his nemesis, handily shutting his mouth.

The moment of inattentiveness was enough for Lancelot, and he blurred forward with an armored hand to backhand Spider-Man's torso, eliciting a dull crunching noise and sending him flying towards the nearest wall. The pain was unimaginable. Just that single hit had practically shattered all the ribs in his right side, and it was all the web head could do to stumble free of the wreckage, coughing and gagging so hard he had to pull his mask up and vomit onto the floor.

The Goblin continued to struggle, and much to Spider-Man's annoyance, looked to have gotten one arm free. An arm he was using to saw away at the web binding him. For a brief moment the sound of web ripping was the only thing audible in the room, and the sound - fortunately for Spider-Man, and not so much for the Goblin - drew Lancelots attention. It's head turned slowly towards the Goblin, and the light of its helmet flared once more in recognition. This was the man he had come to kill. This was his mission.

With slow deliberate steps, the monster picked its way around the corpses of the dead. Spider-Man noted through the haze of pain he was suffering that while it pointedly went around the bodies of victims, it tread mercilessly over the corpses of the Goblins one time thugs, crushing heads and shattering bone where it planted it's feet.

"Damnit...!" Spider-Man growled, forcing himself to his feet. Too many people had already died today. Even if the Goblin was the one person who probably deserved it above all else, Spider-Man - no, _Peter Parker_ had made himself a promise. When he was around, until the last breath had left his body, he would do his damnedest to make sure _no one_ died.

With careful ease, Lancelot leapt upward, grabbing the the bottom of the web cocoon the Goblin was trapped in, and yanking downward, untethering him for the ceiling and sending him hurtling to the ground with a dull thud. It wouldn't kill him - the Goblin was made of sterner stuff than that, but Spider-Man still had to wince at the impact. Durable or not, pain was pain.

 **"Mm! MMM!"** The Goblin cried out, his yells muffled by webbing. Lancelot ignored the pleading, desperate noises and leaned forward grabbing one of the Goblins exposed legs, then squeezed. The sound was audible throughout the room, and a number of the lingering homeless who had been cowering in the corners of the room all flinched at the sudden crunching noise. The Goblin screamed, a primal, animalistic howl that would keep all who heard it awake for days afterwards.

Spider-Man had had enough.

"Hey! Lancelot! Cheating on me already? I thought we had something!" He yelled with false bravado, only barely masking his desperate need to go lay down and sleep for a week. Lancelot paused, but didn't turn towards the annoying wall crawler. It had a mission. Hail and Kill. No one who had wronged him would live, and no one who got in his way would either. First the Goblin, then the Spider.

Lancelot changed his grip on the Goblin, lifting him by the wounded appendage and raising it high overhead. Enough so that he could comfortably reach out with an inhumanly strong hand, and wrap it around the struggling criminals skull. Spider-Man couldn't afford to wait for his flagging strength to return any longer. He launched a web line at Lancelots foot and pulled as hard as he could. There was some resistance, but basic physics meant that no matter how strong something was, it still needed leverage to make use of it. Lancelot's feet flew from under it, sending it sprawling on it's back and leaving the Goblin lying helpless next to him, whimpering in pain.

"I said -" Spider-Man began again, groping for another pithy one liner and then froze. Lancelot had vanished. No, not vanished, _moved_. Somehow, the black iron beast had arrived in front of him before he could even blink, with one arm reared back to punch him - probably directly through his chest. A blow that would surely kill him.

What Spider-Man couldn't understand as death approached him was _why_ it had stopped to rear back. At the speeds it was moving a simple jab would have achieved the same effect. Instead, Lancelot loomed over his hunched and bruised form, frozen in a grim prelude to violence. Spider-Man's mind spun as he tried to find ways to avoid the attack, to dodge, or to counter. Or even just to _survive_ the blow. But the longer he thought, the more something occurred to him.

Lancelot should have struck by now. Instead it was just... standing there, mid motion, shaking.

"What the..." He murmured, slowly backing away from his foe. Honestly, it was times like this that Spider-Man wished that every freak with a chip on their shoulder didn't somehow end up in New York. He was tempted to assume that it was the city itself giving people powers, but that would just be foolish.

...Wouldn't it?

"No time to think about it. Gotta get these people out." He muttered to himself, sidling around Lancelot and waving to the nearest group of people. Without a single word spoken, he pointed to the exit, raising single finger to his mouth in the universal sign for silence. He winced as he struggled towards the next group of people, and with a single glance back towards the iron demon that was Lancelot, he made a judgement call.

He called the Avengers.

-ooo-

"Ugh. Where...?" Lance groaned as consciousness once more returned to him. In truth, he had been expecting to awaken to a pile of corpses and nothing more. The demolition of the F.E.A.S.T building was well within his capabilities, and he sincerely doubted his Berserker counterpart would resist the urge to do so given such a... what would Merlin call it? Ah - 'Target Rich Environment'. Merlin was many things - an irreverent prankster, a good friend, and in many cases, brutally pragmatic on his approach to war. Of all the traits Altria could have garnered from her erstwhile friend and mentor, that was the one Lance liked the least.

Still, instead of a bloody wasteland, Lance was surprised to find himself in a stone chamber that was both familiar and alien to him. He sat up fully and found himself sitting at round metal table. No. _The_ Round Table. The metal used in its creation was a highly unusual waste of resources for the time, but there it was. Galahad had insisted, and so it was. But the table was subtly different than it should have been. Instead of bearing places for each of his fellow knights, there were but four positions to be seated.

Each seat had an occupant. To Lances left, sat a purple haired man with a terse, and haggard expression upon his face. He sat, grimacing in annoyance at something even as his resplendent white armor glimmered in the scant light of the chamber. This was his Saber. His most common representation. It was him as the world had come to see him in the days after his passing. It was the him that had slowly given up pieces of himself in order that he might better represent his ideal, and be just a bit closer to his liege lord. A true knight.

To Lances right, stood the black armored version of him that represented him at his worst. It was his Berserker. The him that could only be born in timelines where Lancelot had truly given up on humanity. Both his, and everyone elses. It was the Lancelot that had known and been party to betrayal of the highest order. The Lancelot... the _him_ that yearned to inflict it's misery on everyone around it. It was violence incarnate. A humanoid shaped weapon that, if Lance had a choice, he would purge from himself without any remorse.

Finally, directly opposite him, sat a being Lance did not recognize, but that his mind instantly rejected as being 'him'. This was not a foreign or alternate version of himself. It was barely even human. If Berserker was a human shaped weapon, then this thing could barely even be considered that. It was a heavily muscled, squat black _thing._ It's eyes of pure white were too large for a human face, and its maw gaped open, slavering away at the two men nearest it. It's physical form was indistinct, and fluid, rippling and shifting as it bent forward over the table. Hunger _radiated_ from the thing. Worse than any creature of myth Lancelot had ever laid eyes on before.

"What kind of monster..." Lance mumbled, instinctively jerking away from the creature only to be stopped by cold steel clamped around his wrists.

"The original occupant of this body." The purple haired man, Saber, explained, his voice almost bored sounding. He pulled his arms backward, trying and failing to move away from the table just as Lance had. Lance glanced towards him and realized his hands were chained together. The chain lead away from Saber and under an iron loop built into the table then down into a hole at the tables center. Each of them were chained like that Lance realized, chained to the table, and to each other.

Lance gave another experimental tug on his chains and found himself stuck fast. His eyes traced the length of chain to Berserker, and found to his surprise that of all of them, Berserkers chains had the most slack. Or rather, the reason neither he nor Saber could move was that Berserker had _taken_ all the slack chain. Which made no sense except...

Lances eyes continued back long the chain, back towards the terrible monster opposite him. It's large clawed hands had stretched forward, and were pulling taut the chains binding Saber and himself, making it easier for Berserker to remain standing.

"Why is it helping him? I'm fairly certain this is the body of a Human. That...thing... can't have been it's owner." Lance asked, testing his strength against that of the beast, and frowning as he found his strength insufficient to overturn the combined efforts of Berserker and the monster.

"This place is purely a mental construct. He appears that way because that is how he thinks of himself. Nothing more, nothing less." Saber said with a disinterested shrug.

"What kind of person has such a monstrous self image?!" Growled Lance, anger beginning to overtake confusion. This was _his_ body now. _His_ life. He was the first of them. The Proto-Lancelot that would go on the be renown in stories throughout the ages. The root of them all. The man who had created their legend. And it was by that right that he lead the fractured mind they all shared.

Maybe he would feel less justified in the face of his body snatching, if this _thing_ wasn't who he had stolen it from. Even the lowliest peasant from his time deserved more than this parasite.

 **"Quick to throw stones aintcha? Why not ask yourself that question?"** Hissed the monster that was once Eddie Brock, his New Yorker accent heavily warped. Every word he spoke was painful to the ear, like two dissonant voices screaming at once to be heard. This gave Lance pause. He was still angry. Enraged in fact. But he had to admit to being curious. So he looked down upon himself.

He wished he hadn't.

He was covered in blood. His clothes were nothing but tattered rags. His knuckles were bleeding and the skin on them torn. In places, bits of ash covered him, and in others the red slick of blood was so thick that he could barely tell what lay beneath it. Lance frowned and his lips pressed together into a thin line. It would be easy to deny what he was looking at, but he knew that was useless. A pointless deflection that would serve no purpose but to distract him. He had long since accepted the reality of Knighthood. The truth was, Lance, or rather Lancelot du Lac, was a man born to a time of strife. It was the whole reason he had become a knight in the first place. Had he a choice, the blessed child of the lake would have done nearly anything except become a warrior, a fighter. But countless times, across countless realities, he had chosen the same path. The path to knighthood. And as much as he knew his goals to be noble, he was under no illusion as to the number of bodies he had tread upon to reach them.

-ooo-

 _The bandit lay before him, pathetic and defeated. There had been dozens of them before, but they had made the mistake of waylaying a carriage that Lancelot Du Lac had been escorting._

 _For many of them, it was the last mistake they would ever make._

 _Lancelot loomed over the fallen man, his expression pinched but otherwise unruffled. Inwardly, he was furious, appalled by how easily these men could harm their fellow man for personal gain, when the enemies of the kingdom fell upon them from all sides. Was not Britannia home to enough monsters? Why could these men not understand? Why could they not see that it was only together that Britannia would stand indomitable over its foes?_

 _"Mercy...!" Croaked the wretched thing. Lancelot frowned in distaste. He could end it here. Destroy the man and slay all those incapacitated outside the tiny cave._

 _But he did not. The blessed child of the lake knew better than most that hate only begat more hate. And he had no need of it. So he sheathed his blade and stepped forward to pull the man to his feet._

 _"Abide here for a moment. I will seek a way to bring you to the nearest town." Lance said flatly._

 _"Yes my lord, anything you wish!" The man said, tears of relief and snot running from his eyes and nose. He threw himself to his knees once more at Lancelots feet, bowing and scraping at the very dirt upon which he walked._

 _To Lance it was abhorrent. He was no noble, no lord of a land to step lightly around. He considered himself no more important than any common man, regardless of birth. So he leaned forward to pull the man to his feet once more._

 _"Come now. Perhaps you can pay for your crimes on the front lines. We've always a need for fighting men -" Lancelot paused as the Bandit lunged forward, a hidden knife in hand. Lancelot did not bother to react to defend himself. Even disregarding the blessed armor he wore, Lancelot was a man who had one foot in another world. A man beloved by the Fae, and second only to Altria herself in their regard. No mortal weapon could ever hope to pierce his hide._

 _The Bandit stumbled forward, his knife skating across the thinner armor under Lancelots armpit. It was a clever attack. In all likelihood it would have probably worked on a normal knight. But if Lancelot was a normal knight, he would never have been able to bring an entire bandit gang to its knees in the first place._

 _Lancelot sighed, his fist shooting out to catch the man in the throat. The hapless bandit stumbled backwards and fell onto his haunches, coughing and crawling away from the knight._

 _"P-please...!" He begged once more, appealing once more to Lancelots mercy, and wish to uphold the ideals of a knight. This was the moment in which Lancelots many selves tended to diverge. Some killed the man, reasoning that he could never be useful to society. Others did so out of simple rage at being attacked. Even more still spared him, only to find him several years later, a soldier abusing his position to terrorize the citizens of the little hamlet he was set to defend._

 _But he, the first of his kind, chose none of these options. Instead, he carried the man before the nearest noble and allowed_ _the land owner to proclaim judgement on the criminal in their domain - as was their right. The bandit still died - but due process had been followed. Lancelot had done his duty. He had defended his charges, and allowed the rest to play out as it would._

 _But he still knew, deep in his heart, that the bandit - and all his compatriots - had died if not_ _ **from**_ _him, than_ _ **because**_ _of him. And he had made peace with that._

 _-ooo-_

Shaking himself of the memories, Lance looked back up at Eddie his face blank of all emotion.

"I know my own sins creature. I have accepted them and moved forward. You have done neither." He stated evenly. He looked to his Saber as he spoke, and exchanged a brief nod with the man.

 **"Bullshit!"** bellowed Eddie Brock. **"You kill people and it's fine but I wanna get a little revenge on the side and that's evil? Fuck you you sanctimonious prick! Spider-Man stole my** ** _life!_** **And now your gonna help me steal his!"**

Lance rolled his eyes at Eddie. He understood the mans motivations. He simply didn't agree with them. He did not know everything there was to know about Eddie Brock, but he had experienced enough of his thoughts and memories to know that whatever he had once been, he was no longer even capable of pretending to be a good man. He was a selfish, angry little man, and Lancelot would have no part of it, or his revenge.

"Even Berserker is more honorable than you Brock. Remember that when I eventually purge you from myself. Remember that when you trapped in here with that mindless thing. Even _he_ has more humanity to him than you do." Lance said, taking a deep breath and then pulling _hard_ on his chains. By himself it wouldn't have been enough. As it was, each of the four entities in the room maintained an equal amount of control over their body, and it was only because Berserker and Saber were content to support him that he had remained the one in control. Now that had changed. Berserkers rage at the atrocities of the Goblin had caused it to become uncontrolled, a barely coherent weapon of mass destruction with but one purpose. With Brock assisting him, it was a small wonder Lance couldn't simply will himself back in control.

Fortunately, there was someone else here who certainly did not agree with the more murderous of the four.

Saber yanked on his chains in concert with Lance, and both of them placed their feet on the table, pulling harder and harder on the metaphorical chains until finally Brock could hold fast no longer. The chains began to slip from his fingers, and with every link he lost Lance felt more and more strength flood him.

Finally the last chain slipped, and Lance lurched backwards, the force of his grip enough to drag Berserker forward. The black iron demon slammed down on the table with an almost confused glance around itself, as though only now having become aware of it's circumstances. Unlike it's usual brutal response to aggression, it paused to take in its surroundings, and then sat back down at it's seat.

Lance had only a few moments to note that Brock and Berserker were sitting much closer together now than they once had been, before a bright light flashed before him, and he found himself once more in control of his body.

"Ah... there are the bodies..." He mumbled, more than a little confused by what was going on around him. Groups of homeless men and women were slowly slinking around him, Spider-Man directing them quietly to escape the building. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laura eyeing him speculatively before slipping in to one of the escaping groups of people and vanishing from sight. Slowly, he lowered the arm he was holding aloft in the beginnings of a punch. The movement, regardless of it's speed, was noticed, and soon the crowds of people were fleeing from him at record speed, doing everything but trampling each other to escape. Lance merely waited. He could turn off For Someone's Glory, and try to talk to Spider-Man, who was standing protectively between him and the escaping civilians, but if there was one thing Lance was uninterested in, it was being recognized. True, his head was still covered by his helmet, but his voice would not be so concealed. So instead he waited, his head twitching slightly as he tracked the rapid egress of the people around him.

When everyone had finally left, Spider-Man approached, his stance firm but clearly weakened.

"You still alive in there Lancelot?" he said, and Lance cringed at the knowledge that someone already knew who he was. Then he found himself annoyed by the mask the wall crawler was wearing. Under normal circumstances he would be trying to peer through the slits in an enemies helm, to try and discern their expression. Where were they looking? What would they do next? But despite the... oddly expressive... mask Spider-Man wore, it gave no indication as to wear the costumed hero was actually looking.

Which is why Lance could only watch in annoyance as a line of web shot from Spider-Man's wrist and latched on to something that had been laying next to him. By the time he had registered that restrained form of the Goblin, Spider-Man had pulled hard on the web line, sending the Goblin flying through the front doors of the building. Lancelot felt anger begin once more to burn inside him as he gazed upon the corpses of the people around him. The burnt corpses of people he had not to long ago been trying to feed. He took a single step away from Spider-Man, and towards the door. He quickly stepped back though, narrowly avoiding a burst of webbing that would have attached itself to his helmet.

"Ah ah ah." Spider-Man said, waggling a finger in mock chastisement at him. "It's rude to dine and dash you know?"

 **"He is a monster that must be stopped."** Lance said, surprised that he had even bothered to speak. He had seen Spider-Man move, and while he might definitely have a hard time pinning the menace down without killing him, he doubted the costumed vigilante could physically stop him if he just chose to leave. But something made him stop.

"Oh so you can talk now. Cool. Look I know the Bugle makes it seem like I punch my way through everything but seriously - you seem like an... well I won't say a good guy 'cus you're clearly not - but you know. Well meaning?" Spider-Man said with a shrug.

"So just let the cops handle Gobby and we can stay right here." Spider-Man finished, leaving 'away from all the innocent people' unsaid. Lancelot paused for a moment, turning back to Spider-Man and looking down at the other man. For just the briefest of moments he considered it. He had done it before, and he would do it again. After all, May had survived, Laura had made it out, and all the henchman had been...

 **"And what of me? I suppose you would ask that I remain here for the police?"** He queried, trying very hard to avoid looking at the corpses littering his surroundings. He could already feel Berserker trying to tug control away from him, trying to push him to give in to his rage and rend his surroundings into their composite parts. He could only hope that Saber was enough to hold him back for now. The last thing he needed was to go on a rampage when there wasn't even a target to focus his rage on in line of sight.

"I wouldn't say the cops..." Spider-Man said, trailing off and glancing towards a spot on the ground. Lancelot didn't bother looking at it, because he already knew what was there. It was all that remained of one of the pissants who had dared attack the F.E.A.S.T center, and he felt not one iota of shame for having ended them, even if he wasn't in his right mind at the time.

There was silence for a second, before Spider-Man repeated himself.

"I said, 'I wouldn't say the cops!' " He yelled this time, cupping his hands around his mouth and bellowing into the rafters. "Come on what do you want a trumpet fanfare?" the wall crawler groused.

That was all the warning Lancelot got before he was assaulted on all sides. A blast of pure luminescent energy lanced down through the roof of the building at him, and a number of smaller, far less noticeable detonations struck him in the back. Despite his strength he found himself being pushed down by the force of the energy blast, which was so bright that he was all but blinded by the attack. After several seconds weathering the strike, the energy suddenly dissipated, and Lancelot shook his head to dismiss the stars in his vision. Smoke curled up from him where his armor had begun to heat up, and he reach towards his back with a groping hand to pull what appeared to be an arrow from where it had wedged itself in a gap between his pauldrons.

At this point, Lance had suffered enough. He was, despite his living conditions on this world, a proud man. He disliked being attacked without warning, he despised being stopped from achieving his goals, and he positively hated being teamed up against. Alone they were things that would probably not have whittled away at his composure. Even together, on a normal day, he would have stuck to his convictions to live this life as quietly as possible. But today had brought with it a number of trials, and Lancelot was well and thoroughly done with being toyed with.

 **"I warn you. Show yourselves, or I will be forced to retaliate."** He ground out, holding to the last dregs of his honor like a man at sea clutching at flotsam to stay afloat.

 _"Your lucky, we were having a meeting when you called."_ A man in red and gold armor said, the hum of machinery ringing out around him as he landed firmly on the ground next to Spider-Man.

"Lucky isn't the word I would use to describe a massacre." and man in blue scalemail declared, vaulting through the hole in the roof and landing astride his armored companion. Lance frowned at them, then turned his head, just barely catching a glimpse of purple cloth before his ambusher vanished behind cover.

 **"Knights?"** Lancelot queried, noting the armor. He was aware of the phenomenon known as a Super Hero - he lived in New York after all. But he was woefully under read on the specifics behind most of them. He knew of Spider-Man because of a morbid curiosity in the hero Eddie Brock had so desperately wanted to kill, but had otherwise chosen to ignore that aspect of life on this earth. To him, The Avengers and all their ilk were pale replacements of what he and his fellows had once been. Guardians of the realm as it were. And he had no interest in it. He had been given another chance to live and - despite the unfortunate circumstances for it - had chosen to use that life to live peacefully.

Mostly.

"Nooooot quite. Listen just come in peacefully and I'm sure SHIELD will sort you out alright? Those guys will hire anyone." Spider-Man joked, now apparently far more at ease now that he had reinforcements. Despite not actually being able to see his face Lancelot got the distinct impression he was rolling his eyes at him.

 **"I think not. I've no interest in fighting for anyone but my King. And she has long since passed."** Lance said, wincing when he realized that his anger had caused him to use the wrong pronoun to describe Altria. Then he pressed on, ignoring the confused looks on the men's faces.

 **"I concede the Goblin to you out of respect Spider-Man, but you will not stop me from leaving this place."** Lance finished, crouching low and then leaping through the hole the armored man had made in the ceiling. The air as he blasted upward high above the building was almost supernaturally refreshing, and Lance allowed himself a moment to revel in it before he reflexively lashed out, digging a hand into the concrete of a nearby Skyscraper to to halt his fall and prevent him from accidentally killing whoever was beneath him when he landed. Already he could see the red knight flying towards him, while the blue one scrambled up a rope and into a flying contraption that had previously escaped his notice.

 _"Can't let you do that!"_ The Red Knight yelled, his voice amplified by a speaker cleverly hidden somewhere in his armor. Lancelot was impressed. Even he had never known armor that blessed one with the ability to fly. Still, he was not in the habit of getting distracted by new and interesting armaments. At least not while in the midst of combat. So he ignored the warning, instead choosing to leap away towards the next building. He had to be careful, for he did not want to damage the facade of the building he was launching himself from, and this limited how much strength he could put into each jump. Still, he felt it was more than sufficient to avoid the knight flying behind him, sending blast of lancing energy out after him. None of them hit, and even if they had Lancelot doubted they would have harmed him over much. Unlike the first attack - which had caused him genuine harm - these smaller blasts felt significantly diminished. Lancelot immediately understood why however, as a missed shot struck the side of a building, leaving only a faint scorch mark.

The Red Knight did not want to harm any civilian that might be behind Lancelot should he miss. It was commendable, and Lancelot wholeheartedly approved, but that did not change the fact that this was his enemy. Sighting on the target of his next leap and jumping forward, Lance continued across the city, purposely leading his attack away from his own apartment. When he was sufficiently far away, Lance jumped one last time, but instead of landing _on_ his targeted building, his armored bulk sailed through a glass window, shattering it and sending shards of glass flying everywhere throughout the busy office. The occupants of which began to scream and flee in every direction, even though Lancelot very pointedly ignored them, sprinting out of the room and into a perilous stairwell.

 _"Lancelot, I know your in there, come out before I get mean."_ Drawled the Red Knight, his voice once more amplified such that he could be heard throughout the building. Lance rolled his eyes. As commendable as his concern for the citizenry was, he spoke too much. While Lance was unlikely to be genuinely surprised by an attack, the Red Knight could have at least _tried_ to sneak up on him.

No matter.

Lancelot slid over the edge of the staircase railing, dropping several floors before catching himself and pulling up onto the third floor landing. Quickly as he could, he oriented on another doorway that looked similar to the one he came from and ran through it, bludgeoning the door off its hinges and careening into another office. Once more people scrambled out of his way, and he crashed through the street facing window, landing on the roof of the smaller building across the street from him. Already he could hear the machinery that kept the Red Knight aloft engaging as he noted the disturbance and - accurately - judged it to be Lancelot. But it was too late, once Lance had escaped his line of sight it was already over. There was no magic in the world that would be able to track him while he was using For Someone's Glory. Confident in his escape, Lance leapt forward once more, intending to lose himself in the concrete jungle before doubling back to return home.

Halfway through his leap though, he was met in the air by a tremendous weight. The small object that hit him visibly dented his enchanted breastplate, impacting his ribs and causing Lancelot his first _true_ injury of the day. But it did not stop there. Almost too fast to react, whatever had impacted him _kept going_ driving him through the air until he he slamming down into an open green field. Lance lay in a deep crater of dirt, almost unable to comprehend what had happened. As much as he respected the modern knighthood of Superheros, he had not thought any given on of them his match. His pride was enough that he had simply accepted Spider-Man as the norm and moved on. There was no threat to be had there. Unfortunately, his assumptions had apparently been very, very, wrong.

So he gasped for air beneath what turned out to be a sizeable metal hammer. His first thought was simply to rise and let the thing fall to the ground so he could continue to flee - maybe change tactics so that he could avoid hurting any civilians are causing more collateral damage. He could stand and fight - even this blow had not robbed him of the belief that he could destroy his enemies if he so chose - but truthfully, he didn't _want_ to hurt these people. Despite his misgivings on their approach to homicidal maniacs, they were clearly knights of the realm. The law, and ergo, allies of justice. What kind of hero would he be if he were to deprive the world of one of them simply because of a misunderstanding?

Aggravatingly enough, the hammer, simply would not move. He was pinned beneath it as surely as a horse beneath a boulder. With another sigh of aggravation, he reached towards the things handle, only to be interrupted.

"I would not bother. Only I may wield Mjolnir's awesome power." The new figure espoused dashingly, as he hovered into view above the coliseum Lancelot appeared to be trapped in.

'It's a fucking baseball stadium shit head.' Eddies disgruntled voice chimed in from the depths of his mind. Lancelot chose to ignore the statement, sure that it was either misleading or wrong. There was little to no reason for Brock to assist him in any way, and so it was best to consider everything he said or did suspect.

'Of course I have a reason to fucking help you! If you go to fucking jail I technically have to go to asswipe.' Eddie cut in. Lancelot once more ignored him, instead looking up at his aggressor. Unlike the previous two knights, he recognized this one. He had born witness to many, many, depictions of him when the viking heathens had raided his homelands costs, leaving untold destruction and sorrow in their wake. What confused Lancelot though, was the fact that - despite _looking_ like Thor, he knew this new attacker could not in fact be the heathen God of Thunder. The age of gods had long since passed on earth, leaving no deific survivors to continue it.

It was this confusion, combined with the lingering memories of villages torn apart by raiders, that influenced Lancelots next actions. Instead of speaking, or trying to reason with this 'Thor', he merely closed his grip around the handle of the hammer. If it were truly a construct of the gods, it was unlikely that Knight of Owner would work on it. When red lines and a sinister black haze began to rise from the hammer, Lancelot would be lying if he said he did not grin beneath his helm. He would as be lying if the shock on Thor's face as he lifted the hammer was not distinctly satisfying. And finally, he would be an absolute liar should he admit to using anything less than one hundred percent of his strength to hurl the weapon at Thor.

With his full strength behind it, in addition to the benefit of Knight of Owner and its own formidable enchantments, Mjolnir hurtled through the air, a harsh boom echoing throughout the empty stadium as the sound barrier shattered. Thor could hardly move before his own hammer had slammed into his gut, dragging him with it across the city and well away from Lancelot.

Stumbling to his feet, Lancelot grimaced. He was not a spiritual body anymore. He had a physical form. A greatly improved one, but still physical none the less. True he could recover from nearly anything that wasn't immediately fatal, but Mjolnir was hardly a normal weapon. He shuddered to think what he would have had to do to defeat the false god in a straight fight. Glancing around him once more, Lancelot left the arena, coming out in an empty loading dock behind the construction. With a tired sigh he released For Someone's Glory, and allowed his armor to vanish back into the ether from whence it came. Once more he was just Lance Lake, a normal guy from New York. He grimaced as he walked away from the sight of his short confrontation, blending into the crowds of people traveling the streets. For once he was glad for the average New Yorkers apathy towards their surroundings. He was sure people noticed the obvious holes in his clothing from gunshots, but not a single purpose challenged him as he made his towards the metro.

It was still early morning, and as much as Lance abhorred sloth, and wanted to rush to check on May Parker, he didn't. That place would be crawling with police by now, and he wanted nothing more than to sink into his bed and sleep this off. It was at times like this that he was glad he had inherited For Someone's Glory from his Berserker. True, it was a dishonorable thing to hide ones self in the pursuit of ones knightly duties.

But he wasn't really a knight anymore he supposed. It wasn't as though he still had a king to serve. Though he had heard that Britain was ruled by a Queen now...

Lance fell into a seat on the subway, and allowed himself to think on things that ultimately didn't matter, while he dreamt of how wonderful it would be to return to work tomorrow unrecognized or molested for todays events.

-ooo-

Lance trudged tiredly up the stairs towards his apartment. The elevators were still out, and as he ascended he allowed the familiar graffiti that lined the walls of the stairwell calm his mind and sooth his soul. Many would consider the brightly colored affectations ugly blemishes on the building, but Lance found a soothing sense of belonging in them. If nothing else, the art was a mark, left by people who no doubt desperately wanted to leave something of themselves behind after they passed from this world. Lance could sympathize. As much as he had never prioritized it, the blessed child of the lake had spent many a night wondering how he would be remembered.

He still hadn't worked up the determination to go to library and find out.

Lance was completely relaxed by the time he made it out into the hall of his apartment. He was ready to call it a day. Maybe have a can of ravioli instead of cooking a meal for lunch. Read a newspaper. He deftly unlocked the door to his home and stepped inside, kicking off his work boots and locking the door behind him. Then he walked through the sparse apartment to his bedroom - which contained nothing but his dresser - second hand - and his bed - a gift - and fell forward into his sheets.

It felt like it had only been a few moments, but his eyes shot open hours later when he heard the sound of someone moving in his kitchen.

"Dammit." he grumbled. Lance was far from surprised to find a thief in his home. He knew his neighborhood, and he understand intimately the type of people that lived in it. That didn't stop Lance from being aggravated by the interloper cutting short his sleep. Between his job and his volunteering Lance rarely had a day to himself to just... sleep. It was such a novel concept to him that it was almost addictive. Rising from his bed - he was still dressed, having fallen asleep without changing - he yawned, striding fearlessly into the hallway leading to his living room.

"Hey look, I know your in here. I won't call the cops so just -" Lance froze mid step when a familiar looking girl stepped into view in his living room, clearly chewing something and carrying a red can in one hand that had had its top lopped off as though by a greatsword in one single perfect swing.

"...Laura?" He asked cautiously, forcing himself not to adopt an aggressive stance.

"Hey." She said before fishing around in the open can with her fingers to pick something up and toss it messily into her mouth.

"How did you - are you eating my _only_ can of ravioli?!" Lance cried, all decorum forgotten as he rushed forth to try and secure his favourite food from the teenage girl. He had been limiting himself to what was largely considered 'human' in this era, and so was surprised when the girl danced out of his way like he wasn't even there, continuing to fish the dregs of the sauce covered pasta out of the can.

"Followed your scent." Laura said with a shrug, her expression flat and apathetic.

"But why eat my _food_?" Lance pleaded, turning back towards her and pointing an accusatory finger her way.

"And why are you even _here_?" he added after a second, figuring he should probably at least try to be more concerned over the wayward teenager stocking him than the fact that she was _eating his ravioli._

"Saw what you did. Need help." She said again, walking past him with her ill gotten gains to sit on his sofa. Lance noted that despite her seemingly lax demeanor, she was hyper aware of him at all times, a nervous tension filling her body as though preparing to leap from the nearest window at even the slightest hint of aggression.

"Sorry, the shelter is probably going to be closed for a while after... well after all that." He said, voice strained at the memory of the carnage. "I can barely feed myself so I don't know if -"

"Lancelot." Laura said, cutting him off and causing his mind to temporarily lose track of what he was going to say with just the one word. He stared across the intervening distance at the girl for several moments before sighing and walking around his couch to sit. He noticed her tense at the last moment before he could find a seat and frowned, swerving to change his path so he could step into the kitchen and grab a chair to sit on instead. He didn't know why but Laura was obviously leery of physical contact.

That was a lie actually. He wasn't a stupid innocent. Lance could take a few very good guesses as to why a young girl would be afraid of being touched. He opted not to bring it up, choosing instead to take a seat and wait for her to say her part before he kicked her out.

"Alright. Assume I know what your talking about. Why should I help you?" He said when Laura neglected to say anything else, instead continuing to swipe her finger along the inside of the can to get as much sauce as possible free.

"Aren't you a knight? I need protection." Laura said with a shrug. What she didn't say was that, of the handful of stories she had been told by her mother growing up in the facility she was born in, the legend of King Arthur, was a frequent mainstay.

"Why do you just assume I'm a knight? I'm sure there are lots of people named Lancelot." He hedged, squinting suspiciously at the girl before him. She was... disturbingly hard to get a read on. Sure he could grasp what her body was doing at any given moment, spot when she might choose to attack or evade, but emotionally she was practically a blank slate. He had nothing to go on, and he couldn't tell if she was deliberately hiding her tells, or if she just genuinely felt nothing at her present situation. Namely, being alone in an apartment with someone she was seemingly aware could pulp her with his bare hands.

"Are you not?" She queried lightly.

"I never said _that_ either." Lance said petulantly, and he could swear he saw the corners of her mouth lift for a moment before her face became blank once again. This sucked. There were many things Lance was willing to lie about. Many aspects of his life he was willing to ignore or dishonor. But Knighthood was sacred to him. He may not have a king to fight for. He may not adhere to any code of ethics that still existed. He may not have a single other surviving comrade. But Lancelot Du Lac was, and ever would be, a Knight of the Round Table.

"You're a killer." Laura said, accepting her slight victory without comment and moving the conversation forward.

"...Yes." Lance said hesitantly.

"But you don't kill people." She continued, pointing a dirty finger at him.

"...mostly yes." Lance conceded.

"I want that." Laura said simply, staring straight ahead at him as though that was the best possible explanation she could give for her actions.

"You... you're a teenager. Go to school." He said belligerently.

"Can't." Laura replied immediately, a subtle pained expression crossing her face before it fell flat once more.

"Why the hell not?" Lance complained, throwing his arms in the air. He wouldn't be as bothered by this conversation if she would explain more of what she was thinking. As it was he was only barely following, a fact that was worsened by his admitted lack of knowledge on what constituted 'normal' for this modern world he found himself in. In truth, this girl was likely old enough to be married and with child where he was from, but residual memories from Eddie Brock told him that such a thing was strongly frowned upon by modern society.

"Only good at one thing." she said, raising a hand and closing it into a fist. Lance was startled slightly by the appearance of two shining metal blades as they protruded from her knuckles, cleanly slicing open the flesh there with only the barest hint of blood showing from the wound. Laura relaxed her fist, retracting the claws and then putting the empty can of ravioli down on the table in front of her.

"Killing?" Lance said, just for clarification.

"...yes." Laura said, her eyes turning downward. "I am a weapon. I don't know how to do anything else."

"How have you been surviving till now then?" Lance asked curiously. He supposed she could have been a mercenary. Those still existed right?

"On my back." Laura said with a shrug and a disinterested look that made Lance physically cringe at the confirmation of his suspicions. He mentally catalogued his options. He hated to admit it, but if he sent her back out there, he would be complicit in anything that happened to her. At the same time, he wasn't really interested in running an orphanage. He could barely afford to keep _himself_ in house and home let alone someone with as voracious an appetite as Laura apparently had. He was just about to start finding some other shelter for her to go to for help when something she had said resonated with him.

 _"Aren't you a Knight?"_ she had said. Like that was more than enough justification for some random stranger to help her. Some random stranger who could just as easily be a mass murder or rapist as he could choose to help her. Because that's what a Knight was. They were the lowest form of nobility, meant above all else to be paragons of righteousness. No matter who you were, if you approached a Knight for help, you _should_ be heard out. It did not matter that so few of his peers outside the Round Table actually lived these values. Because as much as Lancelot wanted to stay out of it, to live a peaceful non confrontational life, he still believed. Believed in the oaths he had taken before Altria - King Arthur herself - to uphold all that was right and good in the world.

"God dammit." He cursed, then stood, abruptly heading for the kitchen.

"Bedrooms that way, I'll take the couch." He said bitterly, pausing next to Laura. He may have been imagining things, but he almost thought he saw a shock of relief wind through her. Before he moved past her, a thought occurred to him, and he gently laid a hand on the girls shoulder. He winced as she stiffened, no doubt ready to retaliate, but he pressed on none the less.

"You should know, I have the ability to empower and wield any weapon. Anything that could even potentially be _used_ as a weapon. But you know, I get the feeling my power probably wouldn't work on you." He said waiting for the point to sink in before lifting his hand free off her and walking away. She didn't answer him, and he pretended not to hear her flee towards the bedroom. He then pretended not to hear the muffled crying echoing through the tiny apartment.

As he leaned forward to begin washing a dish so he could cook something to eat, a lock of purple hair fell into his face and it was all he could do not to drop his face into his hands at his own stupidity. Of course his hair dye would come out when using his powers. He went to great lengths to conceal his bizarre hair color, knowing that it would make it harder to get jobs and cause him to stand out to the people around him. He considered going to deal with the problem right that very second, but an image if the bizarre teenager who had invaded his apartment flickered through his head and he stopped.

Maybe it was time to stop pretending to be something he wasn't. Superheroes got paid right?

'Finally. Progress.' Saber finally spoke, his voice tired and smug at the same time.

"Don't even start." Lance mumbled, before continuing to putter about his kitchen. It took him until he was finished cleaning all his dishes that he realized the only food he presently owned was cereal - and beer.

It wasn't the most delicious thing he'd ever eaten - he much preferred ravioli - but much like everything else in Lance's life at the moment, he felt it was appropriate to accept reality for what it was, and work to improve it. Tomorrow? Groceries. And then?

Well let's just say, Lance had high hopes of renewing his membership on the Throne of Heroes.

 **-ooo-**

 **You know, if there's any one thing writing a story with Spider-Man has taught me it's that I am** ** _really bad_** **at dialogue. Jesus. That's an area I'm gonna have to work on. So as much as some people might take offence to the whole Laura being a prostitute thing, I'll note taht this fiction is rated M, and that canonically, that's a thing that actually happened. I'm not a master of the Marvel universe timeline or anything so if I mess up some stuff because I don't really know what else was going on in the marvel comics at the same time as all this was happening then I'm sorry .**

 **You have no idea how unbelievably tedious it was to write this up. I'm typing at a friggin snails pace here, but I caught Spiderverse and just had to step over to this story for a bit. Not much else to report. Let me know what you think in the reviews, I'm always open to being privately messaged (it doesn't happen often so it's not like I'm drowning in the things) and yadda yadda. So as always,**

 _ **Thanks for reading.**_


	3. Issue 3 - It Gets Worse

Lance was the type of person who - largely as a result of an extremely eventful life - greatly relished the time after any major event. This was the time in which events were least likely to occur, at least not so soon after the last (usually terrible) thing had happened.

Which is why, later that night, he was somewhat annoyed to realize that someone was breaking into his apartment.

Again.

"Is there any way I could convince you to just... I don't know... leave?" He asked with some exasperation, not bothering to open his eyes or sit up on the couch. His only answer, ofcourse, was the rough prodding of a rifles barrel, as it's owner jabbed it into his temple, bouncing his head lightly to the side. A small part of Lance mentally weighed whether to be offended or amused by the response - but it was a short lived excercise. Instead, he paused, taking the time to fully wake up and consider what was going on.

Deciding to take full stock of the situation, and knowing there was nothing of value in his home, Lance relaxed. He cracked one eye open to look around the room, to get a better look at his silent assailants.

"Are you guys maybe in the wrong place?" Lance said quizzically, missing the concerned looks his nonchalance elicited from the three armed men crammed into his living room. He was much more focused on how well equipped these men were. They were positively covered in tactical gear. Black coveralls, black bullet proof vests, black masks, night vision goggles. Honestly, Lance thought they looked alot more like a spec ops team than home invaders.

"Shut up. Don't move." One of the men said, poking him in the side of the head with his rifle barrel again. Lance allowed his other eye to flutter open, blinking several times to help himself adjust to the darkness shrouding his living room. A moment of confusion passed over him as he tried to remember why exactly it was that he was sleeping in such a place when he had a perfectly good bed. Then he remembered the young woman who had recently broken into his home. I had to bite back a silent groan as he put two and two together.

Lance waited patiently in place, not overly worried for his own safety. Mulling it over, he thought it best to handle every attacker at once - if only so that no stray bullets killed his neighbours.

Several tense moments later, his suspicions were confirmed when a young woman - Laura - was dragged bonelessly into view by several more men, each dressed similarly to the three ostensibly holding him back. They weren't of course - his strength and speed were more than enough to avoid a few bullets, at least until he could call forth his armor. But there _was_ the annoying fact that he was a spirit with a flesh and blood body. While this did mean he was a servant that could generate its own prana, it also meant he had to consciously focus on his physical form in order to reinforce it, bringing its durability up past that of a regular humans.

"She secure?" One of the men asked, jerking his head towards Laura where the men were busy clamping several metal devices to her arms and legs. When they had finished that, they withdrew a collapsible metal rod from one of their packs and slid it between the restraints - effectively hogtying her. It was a pretty ingenious way to hold her all things considered. She could still extend her claws, but hanging from the rod as she was, she would have no leverage to turn them on her attackers or bindings.

"Yes sir." Another man answered perfunctorily.

"The witness?" The man hovering over him asked.

"No witnesses. Use your knife - don't need to wake up the whole neighborhood." The leader declared, clearly ready to leave.

 _'I believe that's our que to act.'_ Saber noted dryly.

"No shit." Lance grumbled, shooting up from where he lay on the couch of his room and donning his armor faster than anyone present could perceive. One moment he was on the couch - and the next, he wasn't. In his place, stood a suit of resplendent white armor, trimmed with gold and radiating an aura of purity and strength that even the most mystically deficient of men would be forced to notice.

"Gentleman. I suggest you leave well enough alone." Sir Lancelot Du Lac declared, sweeping one gauntlet clad hand outward to take in the entire room. There was a period of silence as the men considered his words. One of them looked as though he may be about to ask a question but was quickly silenced by the sudden glare of his superior. Lancelot watched this all with a relaxed air. He knew these men were unlikely to just leave. Whats more, he actually couldn't _allow_ them to leave now that they could easily connect Lance Lake and the Hero Lancelot Du Lac.

Still, he was nothing if not a fair man. And if they were willing to leave without a fight then maybe he could -

The first man pointed his gun at him, followed quickly by every firearm in the room rising to follow the first. Even the men holding Laura aloft dropped her unceremoniously on the ground to aim at him.

 _'I don't think they're surrendering.'_ stated Saber blandly.

 _'Yeah I picked up on that thanks.'_ Lance shot back, before shifting forward. A Servant, especially one of the three great knight classes such as he, was capable of moving and articulating themselves at a speed comparable to the speed of sound. To one such as he - provided he wasn't caught off guard like he was during the attack on the F.E.A.S.T center - dealing with a handful of mortal men with firearms was essentially trivial. Even the red and blue knights from the day before were nothing in the face of this single fact.

However, Lancelot abhorred unnecessary violence. He was very much aware that the men who had come to stop him were heroes - 'good guys' as it were. More so, moving at supersonic speeds tended to have... deleterious effects on the surrounding area. In an empty field or in very short bursts it was fine, but Lancelot was leery of tearing apart every street he ran on simply because he could.

All of these things, of course, were things that did not factor in to the current situation as the only property present was his own. It took Lancelot no time at all to flit past each of the men, hammering one armored fist into their skulls. He looked over them as they fell, an unimpressed look on his face, before turning to Laura. He tried very hard not to think about the mess his mere passing had caused, sending small articles flying about his living room as though a windstorm had occurred there.

"Hey are you alright?" He asked, leaning forward and making as though to pull apart the metal restraints holding Laura in place as he approached.

That is, until his gauntlet touched her hand, and her eyes exploded open, there pupils dilated and bloodshot. Before he could even think to question what was going on the girl began to thrash violently, steel claws exploding from her hands and feet, helpless to actually harm anyone hogtied as she was. If his normal impression of Laura was that of an apex predator, this was more akin to a rabid dog. A bear raging through its last moments.

He blinked once beneath his helmet and stepped back, unsure of what to do.

"Laura, it's me. Uh. Lance?" He said plaintively, lifting his hands into the air to show he had nothing threatening in them. Instead of calming her down though, this appeared to do nothing but change her focus, from a wild thrashing to a directed struggle to reach him. Her hands flexed helplessly against the restraints binding them, and her arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles as she fought her own anatomy to reach him, managing only to shimmy a few inches towards him.

"Laura you need to relax, these guys are finished alright? I handled them. Do you know why they wanted you?" He tried again, this time de materializing his helmet so she could see his face. She stared at him, and for a second there was the flicker of recognition. Her struggles slowed, and she looked around herself, blinking in confusion.

Aaaand then her gaze feel on one of the unconscious soldiers. And she started to thrash again. Only this time, while screaming and snarling like an animal.

 _'She's basically a berserker huh? You're going to have to hold her still till she calms down.'_ Saber said.

 _'Shoulda killed the chuckle fucks.'_ Eddy chimed in from wherever the angry little man existed in Lancelot's shared mindscape.

 _'Your right. I just really don't want to get closer to those claws than I have to. Something tells me they're... dangerous. Also Eddy? Shut up.'_ Lance replied, wondering just when conversing with the voices in his head had become such a casual occurrence.

Thoughts of soul based insanity, and worries about the uncharacteristic silence of his Berserker filled Lance's thoughts as he watched Laura thrash about. He carefully waited, timing his movements so that he could roll the girl over without being cut by her claws. Lance wasn't really sure if her claws could actually hurt him, but he hadn't gotten to be a master combatant by simply allowing unknown weapons to hit him. When he was sure he had a good grip, he picked her up by the back of her shirt, treating her like a very unwieldy suit case. The contact seemed to alarm Laura, causing her to start her struggles anew, eve trying to break her own neck in order to spin around and bite into him. Lance sighed dejectedly, and shifted his arm in front of her where she promptly set to trying to bite through his gauntlet to reach his arteries.

Lance was simultaneously appalled and impressed with the razor focus the girl had. Most berserkers he had met in his time on the earth had been impressive for their physical strength and endurance, but not altogether very smart. They were more likely to headbutt someone a dozen times then go for the more expedient option and just slit their throat.

He couldn't tell if she was just extremely well trained - or just _that_ predisposed to combat.

Having now distracted Laura sufficiently, Lance lifted his free arm around her, and gently carried her out of the room full of unconscious men. He carried her like a very large thrashing puppy under one arm, stepping carefully over the downed men until he made it to his bedroom. He then levered the door open with his foot, and slid inside. He was unsurprised to find his mattress - which was a gift - reduced to tatters. It was as though someone had run the thing through a blender and then placed it back atop the bed frame.

Pushing the fact that mattresses were expenses into the same portion of his mind that was worried about all of his _other_ stuff being broken now, Lance dropped Laura on the torn apart mattress, quickly swapping his forearm for a shirt he scooped off the floor. She howled in indignation at that, but as he left her line of sight she seemed to calm down, breathing deep ragged breaths as though she had been underwater and was only just now coming back up for air.

When he was sure she wouldn't bite her own tongue off, he went back to his living room, disarmed all the men of every weapon he could find, and sat down to wait.

He assumed the men would wake up fairly soon. The average human being rarely stayed unconscious after a knockout for more than fifteen or so minutes by the modern reckoning. However these men simply... didn't. After about an hour they all simultaneously began to shudder, and then fell still - no longer breathing.

"Well that... happened..." he mumbled to himself. With a casual thought he released his armor back into its astral form, and stepped curiously over to the now dead men. He knelt next to one, poking gently at his cheek and frowning at the unexpected clinking noise the mans jaw made as it fell open. Continuing his inspection of the man, he began to pull his clothes off, looking for identifying marks. This was an inspection he had done often as a knight of the realm, seeking out and destroying foul cults that threatened not just the kingdom but the world.

 _'Really you sparkly armored fuck? You think they're just gonna have fucking matching cutie marks or some shit?'_ Eddy sneered at him.

 _'Well no. But -'_ he paused, rolling up the sleeve of one man to find a highly detailed tattoo of an iron riveted skull on his forearm. He rose quickly, shifting to the next man and the next, finding each bore the same mark in different places on their bodies.

 _'Does this count? Also what's a cutie mark? Actually, don't tell me. Shut up Eddy.'_ Lance thought.

 _'My niece used to love this show and -'_ Eddy started but Lance summarily tuned him out.

Lance sighed, exhaling a breath of fetid air that he knew were the first signs of the smell all these dead bodies would surely produce. He was thankful for the area he lived in. With any lucky his neighbors would simply think Laura's screaming was the result of a drunken rampage, and the police wouldn't be called.

He briefly debated cutting off one of the mens arms so he could keep the tattoo as a reference but quickly decided against it. In his homeland bringing the heads of a dozen bandits to the authorities would be worthy of a reward.

Now it was worth a life sentence.

Still exceedingly tired, Lance sat back down on his - thankfully undamaged - couch. He was too tired for dealing with the modern world right now. He would handle the corpses in the morning.

 _'And you know it teaches important lessons for kids and -'_ Eddy continued droning along in the background.

Lance reached for a nearby throw pillow and covered his face with it, groaning.

-ooo-

The next morning found Lance surprisingly refreshed. He hadn't had to execute anybody - which was good even if only because all of the invaders to his home had spontaneously died before he could interrogate any of them. He'd helped Laura avoid being kidnapped - something he was reasonably certain wouldn't have gone over well with the savage teenager. And most importantly -

 _'And your sure you found a way to make him stop talking.'_ Lance asked for the umpteenth time, doing a lap of his kitchen in search of food. There was none of course, which meant he had to go to the grocery store today before work.

 _'Temporarily at best. We could seal him up entirely but his psyche is where you draw all your common knowledge from, so the effects it might have on your daily life could be... unpleasant.'_ Saber reported blandly, as though he only partially cared about the repercussions.

"Well it can't be _that_ bad. Not compared to his constant suggestions that I murder people anyway." Lance said, not bothering to restrict himself to mental communication in his own home.

 _'In all likelihood, all of your present knowledge of the modern world would go with him. Cars would suddenly seem like dreadful iron monsters to you. Your refrigerator could be powered by nothing less than magic. Rap music would be a sin and -'_ Saber said, sounding for all the world as though he was merely reading from a list.

 _"_ I get it. He stays. Damn. How'd you get him to shut up anyway?" Lance grumbled, opening his freezer for the third time in the vain hope that a waffle was somehow hidden in the door.

 _'We have agreed to look into the circumstances of a homeless commune in San Francisco.'_ Saber said perfunctorily.

"You know we don't have a car right? And that we work seven days a week?" Lance pointed out, grabbing a warm beer from the counter where he had apparently left the gifts the other day. He realized that calling beer liquid bread was bullshit - but it was better than an empty stomach at least.

 _'We actually only work five days a week. We volunteer for the other two. At a location that was recently torn apart, that we are trying to avoid.'_ The reasonable voice of his personal secretary stated. Lance knew before he even finished thinking it that the descriptor had annoyed Saber.

He resolved to continue using it.

"Fine. But not right now. We have to figure out what's going on with these guys." Lance said, waving his hand in the generally direction of the pile of dead bodies in his living room.

 _'Agreed.'_ Saber said tersely, before falling silent.

Lance sat in silence for a minute more, sipping his lukewarm beer. He hadn't actually gotten undressed the day before, so he supposed he was already prepared to go to the grocery store. He was a heroic spirit but he _did_ need to eat. Quite a lot actually. Thankfully his bodies needs were purely for calories. His spiritual body provided everything else, the two feeding off each other in a never ending cycle. This allowed him to primarily purchase food that was high in calories and low in nutrition in bulk. Sure it looked strange when he tried to walk out of the grocery store with bags laden with one dollar cans of ravioli and chili, but he could live with being merely 'strange'.

Still, it was a strange balance to strike between two states of being that really weren't meant to co-exist, and it left him painfully vulnerable to simple starvation. He supposed though, that if he ever found himself low on prana and unable to find food that he would probably have much larger problems to worry about.

Finishing off his breakfast, Lance stood and headed out the door, locking it behind himself. He made it out into the streets quickly, waking himself by jogging down the many flights of stairs to the ground floor. It was a nice day out, sometime in the early afternoon he guessed since he hadn't been able to see his clock past the dead guys. Actually, what was he going to do about the dead guys? He supposed he could call the police but it might be awkward to explain _why_ they were in his apartment to begin with... No, it was probably for that best that he avoid the proper authorities for the moment. He could revisit the idea of cooperating with them when he had established himself.

It wasn't long before Lance made it to the grocery store, which was... surrounded by police. Lance squinted at the scene suspiciously, wondering if he might be seeing things. He had gone months in this city without ever encountering anything this bizarre, but since yesterday it felt like the universe was just looking for any excuse to hurl him into strange situations.

"Er excuse me, but whats going on?" He asked, walking up to one of the officers holding the heedless onlookers of New York back.

"Some idiot with a gun holding the place up. There's a SWAT team en route - so please stay back." The officer said tiredly, his gaze flicking up to Lance and then back to the rest of the crowd like he was used to answering these questions.

"Oh." Lance said, pure relief filling him at the knowledge that this was just a normal, non costumed crime. He winced mere moments afterwards. Crime was still crime, even if there wasn't an idiot in spandex behind it all.

"Do you need help?" Lance asked after a few more seconds of watching the silent grocery store.

"You bullet proof? 'Cus if not I advise you wait for the professionals - or Spiderman - to get here." The officer said with a snort.

Lance considered for a moment before nodding to himself. He assumed that being a superhero and getting paid for it was much like earning your place at the round table. Perform great deeds, have your name spread, wait for the king to extend an invitation. Or... the president. Or whoever was in charge of New York, it was honestly hard for Lance to tell given the labyrinthine nature of rulership in this country. He supposed he would find out eventually though, so he pushed the idle thought to the side, and stepped past the officer, once more donning his gleaming white armor. After a moment of consideration, he opted not to use his helm. Recognition was the point after all.

"Hey uh, you can't..." the officer started, but trailed off when he turned to find Lance watching him with a single raised eyebrow. Lance tried to ignore the fact that all of the previously silent onlookers had exploded into hushed whispers when he had donned his armor. He also ignored the dozens of cellphones the mystically appeared in the hands of the crowd as if summoned by magic. He simply stared at the officer, willing himself to maintain a serene and relaxed outward expression.

"You can't go in there." The officer tried again lamely.

"...You said if I was bulletproof..." Lance pointed out helpfully, not bothering to actually finish the sentence.

"Right. Yeah I... I guess I did. Uh. Don't... don't tell anyone I said that? Please? I could lose my job." The officer said meekly, angling his face so the glare of the noon day sun off of Lancelot's armor didn't obscure his vision.

"Sure thing Officer. I'll just be a second." Lance said. Then he turned away from the awkward exchange, and began to troop slowly towards the grocery store.

 _'Very heroic. That poor man is going to forever remember this as the day he gave a vigilante permission to beat up criminals.'_ Saber said with a hint of amusement.

 _'Well at least I asked. Besides the whole police force treats Spiderman like he's a part of the scenery. Be a bit hypocritical to give me shit afterwards right?'_ Lance responded absentmindedly as he strode through the automatic doors of the grocery store and looked around.

The grocery store appeared almost entirely normal. He had half way expected there to be racks knocked over and produce everywhere as a result of the people panicking or the rubber being overly aggressive. Instead, two men in ski masks were standing near the single open register. Lancelot idly noted that there were over a dozen hostages kneeling in the aisle nearest the two robbers, and both men had turned their weapons on the innocents as he entered.

 _'Yeah but Spiderman doesn't reveal his face to everyone watching while simultaneously keeping a half dozen corpses in his living room.'_ Saber chortled - actually _chortled_ \- at him. Lance paled as realization dawned on him.

He had to finish this and deal with the dead guys _fast._

"Who the fuck are you?!" One of the men yelled, and it occurred to Lancelot that he had been completely ignoring them as he thought.

"I'm..." Lance paused his mind going blank. In the past, when he wanted to arrest someone he simply told them to stop what they were doing or he would kill them. Back then however, he was meting out the kings justice. Now he was essentially just 'some guy', and he doubted strongly that 'surrender or die' was looked upon kindly by the actual police.

"You knaves may refer to me as Sir Lancelot Du Lac, Knight of the Round Table, and Blessed Child of the Lake! Surrender, for you have no chance of defeating me in open combat!" Lance declared loudly, maintaining an outward calm while inwardly he began to sweating profusely.

 _'What... what was that?'_ Saber asked pitifully. If Lance paid close attention he almost felt as though he could hear the sounds of manic laughter echoing in the background of his thoughts.

 _'I panicked! I didn't think this through! All the Super Hero's have special names now don't they? And stupid catch phrases!'_ Lance babbled.

Both of the would-be robbers turned to look at each other, before whipping their weapons around to fire at Lancelot without even speaking another word. Lancelot grimaced, knowing that bullets ricocheting off of him and harming the nearby innocents would not likely go over well with the people he was currently trying to impress. Thinking about it, this was something of an audition for him. How he comported himself now would be the first glimpse the modern age had ever _had_ of Lancelot Du Lac.

That thought actually somewhat relaxed Lance. Truthfully he had never actually failed to achieve much of anything once he decided to do it. That was why he was such a famous hero. Second only to King Arthur herself really. He allowed that knowledge to calm him, and without much further consideration, began to move - not so much that he would tear apart his surroundings, at least not while he was using extra prana to contain the force of his movements, but more than enough to pluck bullets out of the air.

Which is exactly what he did. Like a man with nothing better to do, he sauntered forward, plucking bullets out of the air where he knew they would bounce off him and hurt someone, or merely smacking them into the ground harmlessly if he thought they were going to pass by him entirely.

 _'And what were you planning for your catch phrase exactly? Your Friendly Neighourhood Knight Errant?'_ Saber asked mockingly, making light of the hail of bullets Lancelot was slowly walking through. He could have charged forward, but since he was trying to avoid damaging anything, or killing anyone - even the criminals in this case - he thought it best to go slow.

 _'Heavens no. I was kind of hoping no one would talk to me and I could just... not speak.'_ Lance answered desperately, hoping against hope that things would work out in his favor on that front. His hopes however, were dashed a few moments later, when upon finally reaching the criminals in question and taking their weapons as if wrenching a bone from a dog, they merely stared at him blankly.

 _'They're not surrendering.'_ Lance complained.

 _'Try another threat. They are unarmed now - it should work this time.'_ Saber advised.

 _'True.'_ Lance acknowledged. He allowed his gaze to pass over the crowd of onlookers, who were too busy watching the proceedings to bother using the distraction to try and escape or - heaven forbid - help him. Then he frowned. He could swear there was someone missing...

With a mental shrug, he raised his arm into the air and withdrew Arondight, the Unfading Light of the Lake. His true Noble Phantasm, bestowed upon him by the Lady of the Lake, and sister sword to Excalibur itself. Unlike Excalibur, which radiated a calming light that had ended many a battle before it even started, Arondight appeared to be merely a finely crafted sword with a golden hilt and guard. This wasn't because Arondight _couldn't_ radiate positive feelings. It was simply that unlike his liege lord - who had a preference for 'overkill', Lancelot had worked hard to condense all the power of his weapon into it's blade. It was a mark of pride for him never to let it's power spill forth unless he willed it.

He leveled the weapon at the two men standing against him, and spoke once more.

"Heed me criminals, yield or face the might of Arondight!" He demanded.

 _'Why?! Why are you doing that!?'_ Saber asked finally unable to maintain his calm in the face of such perfectly bad acting.

 _'I don't know okay!? It just happened!'_ Lance snapped back, unwilling to admit that he had simply committed to the act when he knew that stopping half way would be so much more embarrassing than following through to the end. Lance, not having any reason to hold on to them, had dropped all the bullets he had been catching into a heap at his feet when he opened his hand to summon Arondight. The criminals looked down in raw panic at the tinkling sound of copper bouncing off the linoleum floors of the supermarket and then immediately got on their knees.

Or they started to at least. They never really got the chance to fully surrender, because at just that moment a blur of blue and red came flying over a nearby aisle of racking, firing two globs of white at the men which resulted in them being pasted to the floor like flies in glue.

"Don't worry folks, your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman is here to save the... day..." Spiderman said as he arrived on the scene, landing nimbly on the edge of one of the checkouts and then looking around in confusion at all the blank stares the hostages were giving him.

"Hark Spiderman, I have heard much of you." Lancelot said, banishing his sword to show he had no intent to fight. He was still painfully aware of the fact that he had been trying to kill this man yesterday, and though he knew For Someone's Glory would prevent him from being recognized, it still made him uncomfortable around the Wall Crawler.

"Oh wow you have a whole medieval times thing going on there huh?" Spiderman quipped, hopping off of his perch and striding over to peer curiously at Lancelot's armor.

"I... do not know what that is." Lance admitted, watching Spiderman warily as he circled him.

"It's great. Horses and jousting and stuff. Hey I'd love to talk but we should probably do it somewhere else. Cop's will be in here soon." Spiderman said, already headed towards the rear exit of the building.

"I... had wanted to purchase groceries though?" Lance stated, somewhat peeved at how his morning had already been derailed. As it was he might have to jump across the rooftops to make it to work on time, not to mention the pile of dead men in his apartment, and poor Laura all tied up and... Lance froze remembering the state he had left the girl in the night before.

"Yeah look, I know back in the day you guys had a whole Judge Dredd thing going on, but the cops actually really don't like random guys in costumes doing their jobs for them so - uh hey where are you going?" Spiderman started, yelping in surprise when Lancelot grew pale and pivoted on his heel to march back out the front door.

"My time is nearly up Spiderman - may we meet again!" Lancelot said absently, trusting to his terrible acting to make anything he said sound as believable as anything else.

"Yeah but that's the front door. Look I know back door was kind of a new thing back then but -" Spiderman droned on behind him, but Lance chose to ignore him. Instead he walked out the front door into a swarm of uniformed police officers, all of whom had their guns pointed at him. He blinked once, looked behind him to find Spiderman missing, and then shrugged.

"I have brought peace once more to grocery store!" He yelled at the men, hoping he wouldn't have to dodge more bullets. When none of them said anything, or even really moved, Lance sighed, and began slowly walking towards them.

Some of the officers did try to shoot at him, but not many. Certainly not enough to be anything more than a minor inconvenience. By the time he had made it to their line, he found himself face to face with the same officer who had originally been stopping the nearby onlookers from getting any closer. Lance smiled pleasantly at the man, inclined his head once in acknowledgement, and then exited the encirclement. The second he did so, his armor vanished, and he began sprinting for all he was worth back to his apartment.

At a normal human speed of course.

When he finally arrived home it was after taking at least two shortcuts, and evading several police cars. He would have liked to say the police were there to congratulate him, or at worst, ask him some questions about what had happened, but the constant low buzzing of Saber laughing at him in the back of his head told him his assumptions might be a little bit too naive.

Lance was already tired of today, and he hadn't even honestly started it yet. He still had to go to work, and see how May Parker was doing. Not to mention the corpses. Stormy thoughts of how miserable the next few days were going to be filled his mind as he unlocked the front door to his apartment and stepped inside - only to find a hogtied Laura slowly inching her way towards the pile of corpses, her eyes intent on a key ring hanging from one of their belts.

The second he stepped into view her head turned towards him, and their eyes locked. Silence filled the air as they continued to simply stare at each other. Or rather, Lance stared, and Laura _glared_. When finally he couldn't handle the stifling quiet anymore Lance raised on hand in his defense and said;

"I can explain?" In a defeated tone of voice that in no way promised the explanation would be a _good_ one.

He wasn't sure why, but he felt like Merlin might just be laughing at him from somewhere.


	4. Issue 4 - Stories of Old

"You tried to bite my throat out!" Lance blurted out by way of explanation before anything else could occur to him. Then, remembering the literal corpse pile in his living room, he belatedly closed the front door to his apartment with a foot, not daring to turn away from the teenager on the floor between him and somewhere comfortable to sit.

Laura continued to glare at him, speechlessly conveying her obvious displeasure at the situation. Her malcontent was so great that she temporarily forgot to continue her sidelong shimmy towards the nameless corpse holding the keys to her freedom. Her eyes were bloodshot, and when Lance looked closely at her, he realized the shirt he had stuffed in her mouth in order to stop her from biting him had somehow been ripped to pieces. Tufts of the green fabric from the shirt hung haphazardly from the sides of the girls mouth and he winced, wondering if she had eaten it.

"It wasn't my fault! They broke in and started carrying you off so I stopped them, but then you started trying to murder me! I just thought it was best to leave you alone until you calmed down. Which you obviously have so -" Lance's mouth clicked shut with the audible sound of teeth hitting each other, his rapid fire explanation of the situation grinding to a halt when the guttural sound of a growl started to emit from Laura as she continued to try murdering him with her eyes.

"So... I'll just..." Lance said carefully, stepping forward and being very careful to skirt the wall of his small hallway to keep as much distance between himself and Laura as possible as he moved towards her intended goal. He quickly bent over, tugging the key ring free from the dead mans waist.

Carefully - as though working with a particularly unwieldy warhorse - Lance edged towards Laura's prone form, which was basically vibrating with what he hoped was just nervous energy. She twisted and turned to keep him in her field of view the entire time, her eyes tracking him across the room and back like a cat watching a mouse. Steeling his will, Lance bent to unlock the manacles binding the girls hands, and after a few seconds of flicking through different keys, was rewarded with a soft click as the metal bindings fell free.

Before he could even _think_ to turn towards the bindings on her legs, Laura lurched upward, metal claws shooting out of her hands and swinging forward to sever the ankle restraints tying her to the metal pole. For a second after she was finally free, Lance was worried that she was going to try and lunge at him, now that nothing was preventing her from venting her frustrations on the nearest available body. Thankfully, after freeing herself, she instead spent several seconds rubbing her wrists to get circulation back in her hands, refusing to look back towards him.

"...Thanks." She said quietly, with an almost begrudging tone as she moved to look more closely at the corpses in the corner of the room. She still refused to look at him, which Lance found odd, but which he chose not to comment on. He wondered if this was what the later half of his career had felt like to his fellow knights. The bitter, world weary version of himself that was too tired of all the many evils he had seen to do much else but keep himself fed and clean. There was always another fight to march to. Always another fire to put it. And it got so very... tiring. He could barely even remember seeing the other knights near the end, let alone conversing with them.

"You killed them?" Laura asked, yanking one of the bodies down and pulling apart his clothes in a quick efficient search that spoke of professional training and expertise.

"Nope. Popped them all in the head once to knock them out, then they all died on their own a few hours later. Do you recognize them?" Lance asked hopefully. He never had much patience for this type of thing. When he fought bandits he preferred to get the location of their camps and leaders from the terrified criminals. It was always best to go to the source.

"Reavers. They work for the people that made me." Laura said absently, glancing down at one of the tattoo's Lance had noticed all the men shared and then away as if it was of no particular consequence. Lance however, thought differently, if the scowl and disgusted quirk of her lips as she worked was anything to go by.

"Harsh parents." Lance muttered.

"They. Are not. My parents." Laura ground out, her body tensing and her hands clenching into fists. The perfect silver blades of her claws were visible just barely against the outline of her knuckles, and they quivered and shook as if only a concerted effort of will held them from fully extending.

"Could you... maybe explain that to me a bit?" Lance asked, ready to shift to his armor at a moments notice if Laura turned out to be less stable than he had originally assumed. He didn't want to hurt her obviously, but that didn't mean he was just going to pretend she wouldn't attack him if provoked. It had basically only been two days since they had met after all.

"No." She said simply, rising from the man she had been searching and plastering a completely neutral look on her face. With quick deliberate steps she walked to his front door, and began to slip her boots on, thick black shit kickers that must have been the only expensive thing the girl owned. Now that he was actually bothering to look at them, they stood out so starkly against the rest of her cobbled together rags that he wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed them before.

"Okay wait. Are you going somewhere right now? Why?" Lance asked in confusion as he watched her ready herself from his couch.

"Leaving." She answered, her tone dead and cold, like she had simply turned off the part of her that felt... well anything really. She finished tying her boots up, and had just made it to the door when Lance stopped her, leaping from his place on the couch with a touch of prana to land with his hand on her shoulder. Laura tensed at the contact, but then seemed to relax bonelessly into his grip, not moving away from him but not taking her hand off the door knob either.

"Why?" Lance demanded, the most forceful he had been with the clearly desperate girl since meeting her. Instead of answering she simply turned to look over her shoulder at him with that dead eyed stare, then from him to the pile of corpses, and back to him again.

"What these guys? Please." Lance scoffed, rolling his eyes. He found it highly amusing to watch Laura while she was thinking. She was like a very young child, who had no ability to hide or tone down her expressions. Lance gathered that her blank faced, emotionally dead, outward persona was her preferred coping mechanism for the harsh ups and downs of life. But when she let that wall down it was like watching a slideshow of emotions with her. Her gaze flicked back to him, shifting from blank to ecstatic, to angry, to sad, and then back to blank in a manner of seconds.

"Not the end." She said her hand tightening on his door knob and causing the metal beneath her hands to begin to warp and crack.

"I could take a hundred of these guys. You people call guns the great equalizer but I've fought toothless bandits with a higher chance of actually harming me." Lance quipped, a cocky smile spreading across his face at the memory.

"Stronger." She continued doubtfully.

"I have _literally_ fought dragons." Lance shot back.

"...I'm only good at one thing." She said finally, her blank face giving way to a glower that didn't mask the relief in her eyes.

"Great! So am I!" Lance said, injecting a false cheer into his voice that he didn't quite feel. He was familiar with child soldiers. When there were barely two hundred people in a village you armed whoever you could, and by the standards of his time, Laura was basically a fully adult woman. But that didn't mean he thought that was the way things _should_ be. He would never have become a knight if he did.

He also neglected to mention the fact that while he was _technically_ only good at _fighting_ that was only because for the majority of his life it was all he had ever _tried_ to be good at. He was the blessed child of the lake after all - new skills came quite naturally to him. That was the whole point of Eternal Arms mastery. It was the crystallization of his prowess with any weapon.

Bringing that up right now however, just wouldn't be beneficial to the conversation now would it?

"..." Laura glowered at him for several more seconds before her face slackened once more, her hand still on the door.

"You know it's actually good you found me, I had just decided I might need a squire!" Lance continued to push, never taking his eyes off her. He actually didn't know why he cared so much. If she really wanted to leave he doubted he would make a huge effort to stop her. But some deep rooted part of him knew that she didn't _want_ to be alone. She simply felt she _had_ to be alone.

"...can women be squires?" Laura finally asked, allowing her hand to fall away from the door.

"Squires? Hah! Wanna know a secret?" Lance said leaning in conspiratorially. Laura simply tilted her head towards him as if to urge him to continue.

"King Arthur? Woman." He faux whispered, enjoying the temporary break in Lauras mask as her eyes widened imperceptibly and her nostrils flared.

"Liar." She said immediately in response, dismissing him out of hand.

"Nope. Galahad? _Woman_." Lance continued, finding he was beginning to enjoy messing with this girl. When she wasn't in the throws of a berserker rage at least anyway. This must have been how Merlin felt with the Knights of the Round table. An incomprehensibly old being playing at humanity, deriving his fun from toying with his favourite people. Suddenly he could imagine every prank that had ever been pulled on him, only instead of him it was _Laura_ desperately trying to figure out why 'she' had woke up a 'he'. _Laura_ staring incomprehensible at a bright pink set of armor that no knight would be caught dead in.

The idea was so hilarious and nonsensical that it took him a full second of Laura's blank stare to realize the implications of his thoughts.

'Oh god I'm becoming Merlin.' Lance thought forlornly, even as a wide smile continued to spread across his face at Laura's growing discomfort.

Eventually though, the moment passed, and instead of actually answering his statement, she slid around him and back to the living room, her boots thumping against the floor with each step she took. When she stopped, it was in front of his battered couch, which she sat down in gingerly, as though she wasn't completely certain she was allowed to be there. When Lance made no move to stop her she descended completely, shifting about uncomfortably as though unused to relaxing in any way.

"Sooo..." Lance said, walking back into the living room with a pleasant smile on his face that twitched slightly whenever the errant thought of pranking the skittish girl entered his mind.

"I gotta go to work but uh... do you know-" He started, but paused when the house phone began to ring, causing both of them to wince slightly at the high pitched shrieking tone of the early 90's device.

"Hang on a sec. Hello?" Lance said, scooping the phone up from it's docking bay in front of the television.

"Uh... Lance? That you?" A gruff but hesitant voice came through the landline, slightly distorted by the poor quality of the phone Lance owned.

"Oh, hey boss I was just leaving for work now so-" Lance said.

"No! I mean, uh, you were on the news just a bit ago right? The supermarket thing?" His boss - a relatively friendly man who had been paying Lance under the table to work on his construction sight for a few months now - said cutting Lance off.

"Yeaaaah about that, I uh, might have super powers." Lance replied immediately and honestly. He had never been much for subterfuge, finding it extremely distasteful, and so he didn't even bother trying to hide anything from the man who had been putting food on his table for several months now.

"Oh but don't worry! I can still work! I just-" He continued but stalled when a gruff cough came across the phone.

"I'm really sorry Lance but, I don't think I can let you work here anymore." The older man said with a pained tone.

"Wha- Why!? I didn't do anything wrong!" Lance shouted indignantly. He could handle being fired - it wasn't as though he officially worked for the man after all - but being fired for _no reason_ just rubbed him the wrong way.

"It's a conflict of interests! You spandex types create half the work in this town, if someone finds out you work for me I could start losing contracts!" His foreman answered firmly. Lance paused at that. He hadn't been in the modern age for very long, but he had to admit that even _he_ could see why that might not look very good from an outsiders perspective. That didn't change the fact that this couldn't have occurred at a more inopportune time of course, but it was certainly a much better explanation than he was expecting.

Falling silent for a moment to process this new change in his living situation, Lance began to mentally sort through his finances. He had _some_ money saved up. He had learned fairly quickly that budgeting was the key to not starving to death when you had a superhuman appetite. So he figured that if he was frugal and Laura wasn't a picky eater they could survive for... maybe another month. Less if he had to buy Laura clothes and toiletries, which he did because providing for your squire was a knights responsibility. Still, he had already decided to try to go 'pro' as it were using his powers so...

"Could... could I at least get my pay up to now?" He asked slowly, reaching one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Already mailed it off. Look no hard feelings or anything okay? I got a whole crew of guys to look after here." His foremen said apologetically. Strangely enough Lance really did believe him. He knew that there were a lot of less scrupulous people who would have taken advantage of his legally invisible status to push more and more work on him for less and less pay, but this man just didn't seem to have it in him to be truly malicious like that.

"Yeah. That's... Yeah. Have a good one boss." Lance said his mind already elsewhere.

"You too kid." Was his only response, followed by the sudden click of the receiver as he was hung up on. Lance slowly put his own phone down, staring at it like it might contain the secrets of the universe. It didn't obviously but it was better than looking up at Laura - who had no doubt heard the entire conversation if her blank stare and furrowed eyebrows were anything to go by.

"You need money?" She said plainly to which he could only nod sullenly.

"Yeah but it's not a problem." _'Not right now anyway_ ' He said, thinking the rest to himself.

"I can _get_ money." Laura offered, sitting up and sticking her chest out in what Lance thought was probably the most unsubtle way to imply what she meant by that statement.

"Wha- No! Jesus what would make you- Look I'm gonna figure it out okay?" Lance blurted out, heedless of Laura's slowly increasing frown.

"Then what should I _do_?" She asked pointedly, one of her hands opening and closing unconsciously in her lap.

Lance was taken aback by that. Objectively his plan was basically just to get Laura off the streets and into a school or something so she could get an education and be a normal girl. Of course, that was an objective he had crafted mostly while under the impression that she was just a slightly dangerous street urchin and not run away being hunted by an organization that Lance had no knowledge of... What did Arturia do when she had no idea how to proceed?

Ask Merlin? Well obviously that was out. The old man _might_ still be around today - the possibility was definitely there -but Lance highly doubted it. There was no way the prankster would be able to avoid getting himself embroiled in all of this caped hero nonsense. It would simply be too much of a tug on his instincts.

Convene the round table? Equally impossible. He was pretty much positive that all of his former comrades had passed on from this world. The Battle of Camlann had not been kind to them.

Having mostly run out of ideas Lance simply stared at Laura, who was patiently awaiting his response. He would have probably considered said response for a lot longer still, except the girl started _growling_ again.

"Clothes! You need clothes!" He blurted, leaning slightly away from his dark haired protege.

"...Why?" She asked, the growling noise she had been affecting abruptly stopping as she went completely still.

"Because you're wearing rags?" Lance asked, confused by the reluctance.

"They work." She retorted quickly, face still mostly blank except... was that...

"Are you... are you sulking right now?" Lance asked incredulously.

"I am not." She instantly replied.

"You are! Why-" Lance stopped when Laura began growling again. He made a mental note to try and break her of the habit. On the one hand, from his experience having an obvious and easy to recognize warning sign like that could be pretty helpful to any poor sucker who decided he wanted to court her. On the other hand, it was just a _bit_ off putting.

"Ehem. Anyway. Tell you what - just go with it and I'll answer any questions you have about King Arthur and the other Knights." He offered, appealing to the one topic that the girl seemed to be genuinely interested in. Oh she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders - she certainly showed enough initiative breaking into his damn apartment - but she was also deeply utilitarian. That much was obvious from her clothes. Unbidden, memories of my own childhood came to mind.

 _"Lancelot! Cover yourself!" Arthur screeched as he emerged from the the nearby foliage. He had no idea why - Lady Vivian never wore clothes. They had always seemed like a waste of time to him. Not that he would say that. Arthur always got mad when he said stuff like that, and Merlin would always start asking him weird questions about Lady Vivians body._

 _"I_ am _covered though..." he stated flatly. It was true too. Lady Vivian had found him this frock to wear a long time ago. He didn't like, it but she appeared to be correct in her assumption that humans wore clothes so..._

 _"You are wearing_ rags _that you found on a_ corpse _in the_ forest _." Arthur bit out indignantly._

 _"So?" He asked in confusion. Lady Vivian said it was ok so it was ok. It was just that simple._

 _"It's covered in holes! I can see through it! I demand you change at once!" Arthur barked, pointing at a pile of clothes neatly folded on the ground by the campfire. Clothes that had no doubt come from one of the bandits that had been plaguing them since leaving the forest._

 _How hypocritical._

 _"No." He said petulantly, turning away from Arthur to signal he was done with the conversation._

 _"Are you... are you pouting?" Arthur asked incredulously._

 _"...No." he answered quickly, his eyes darting over Arthur's shoulder to what he_ really _wanted to get his hands on. The bandits_ weapons. He _didn't leave Lady Vivian's side and his home by the lake for no reason. He had a goal. A goal that had been eating away at him from the minute he saw Arturia's peerless swordsmanship._

 _He was going to be a knight. The thought caused him to turn slightly so he could capture Arthurs visage in the corner of his eye. The boy was_ always _dressed. Not once in their travels had Lancelot seen him strip to wash in the river, or even to sleep. Arthur basically lived in his armor._

 _Did... do Knights_ have _to wear fancy clothes?_

Lance smiled slightly, remembering the simpler times of his childhood while he watched Laura for a response. It was probably a good thing Arturia had come and whisked him away to be a knight. As much as he loved and revered Lady Vivian as a parent - she was one of the Fae. She wasn't human and she couldn't ever think like one. Thinking back on it, even her more tender interactions with him were no more than the ancient elemental of the lake apeing what it had seen other humans doing. He had no doubt that isolation with such an alien creature for his entire life would have produced a very _different_ Lancelot. Still, Lady Vivian had loved him in her own way, and now it was left to him to pass on that blessing.

"So?" he prompted my face staying calm and placating. Laura's head tilted forward, and her long black hair spilled forward to cover most of her face. She glared at me with her one visible eye, giving off the appearance of a predator watching him from its cave. The stare was unblinking in it's focus, as though the girl were trying to discern Lance's true nature by sight alone.

"...Fine." The girl finally acquiesced, and Lance let loose a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

"Great! Let's go then." He declared, standing to leave and then stopping with a frown on his face. Laura trailed behind him like a ghost, not bothering to question why he had stopped.

"Actually..." Lance said after a moment, then headed to his bedroom to get a hoodie and a baseball cap. With careful focus he pushed as much of his distinctive purple hair under the baseball cap as he could, then pulled up his hood with a smile. True he _wanted_ to be noticed for his deeds, but that didn't mean he was going to be so stupid as to allow that to interfere with the training of his squire.

Also... he had _seen_ the way people treated Spider-Man.

Laura watched him shuffle about preparing himself with a complete lack of interest in her face, a state of affairs that only changed when she followed him through the front door of his apartment and he began to speak.

"Where to start..." Lance mused, watching Laura out of the corner of his eye. Then he began to speak, his voice and tone changing from the conversational tone he was accustomed to in this modern age to one with gravitas. He tried with every fiber of his being to call upon his memories of Sir Kay, who hated listening to stories of others, but held surprising skill in the telling of such stories. Whether the stories Kay had told them all as children were true or not was irrelevant, because the man - for all his faults - made them truly believe in the tales he told.

"Shall I start with the exploits of Arthur herself? Or Perhaps of the Wizard Merlin who's machinations led her down the path to kinghood? What of Tristan's lament? Or Mordred's betrayal? Hear and be heard child - and you will know the Knights of the Round." He spoke as he moved, his voice deep and resonant. He realized that he sounded pretentious, but well... it _was_ a pretty good story. And since he had been around for most of the _really terrible_ parts, he was more than comfortable embellishing the good times.

So he and his charge marched out into the streets of the city, and with every word Lance spoke the girls eyes would widen a fraction. Her posture would relax a touch. Her expression would almost - _almost_ \- twitch into a smile.

It wasn't long before they made it to the second hand clothing store Lance frequented to procure most of his own wardrobe. It was a quaint, quiet little building, wedged between a grocery store and a furniture store. The owner of the store - who Lance was passingly familiar with - greeted them with a hesitant wave as they entered. The man shot Laura a curious look that quickly flicked away when Lance interposed himself between them. The change in focus wasn't because the proprietor felt threatened by Lance of course. No, word spread fast in communities like this, and the word was - Lance was a metahuman.

He could actually see the older (physically anyway) man watching him. There was a new fear in his eyes, a new worry. It was one that Lance was unfamiliar seeing. Because it wasn't the wide eyed awe a serf has of a knight that has come to their rescue. It was the worried look of a man who was unsure of whether or not he was going to be robbed.

"Go on ahead and pick out some clothes for yourself Laura." Lance said, waving her towards the racks of the clothing but himself choosing to remain near the entrance. She seemed completely oblivious to the shopkeepers obvious distress. Or maybe oblivious was not the word. In many ways Laura was nearly more perceptive than he himself was. So rather than saying she was oblivious it was more... disinterest. She had judged the man was no threat and then promptly put him out of mind. It was a terrifyingly efficient way to function, but it very much reminded Lance of his King - and not in a good way.

Arturia had been many things, but the one that stuck out the most - even to someone like _Lance_ who had been raised by a being that wasn't even human - was her complete lack of humanity.

"The King must always be alone huh?" Lance mused, purposefully taking his eyes off the shopkeeper but making no move to head further into the store. He was confident that Laura would come back when she was ready, and he felt bad for the potbellied proprietor of the place. He didn't like it, but he was more than aware of the sheer number of superhumans in the city who went on thieving, murdering rampages within moments of finding their powers.

Lance spent several more minutes waiting in silence, never once stepping away from his position at the front of the store. He considered his options going forward. He would need to train Laura, if only enough to override the Berserker within her. Then he would need to get her into school which might be difficult given his complete lack of a legal identity. Actually... did _Laura_ have any identification? He doubted it. And he didn't exactly have Merlin around to solve these kinds of problems for him anymore...

It was at about this time that Laura emerged from among the racks, having obviously been to a changing room and carrying a respectable pile of clothing with her that obscured her upper body. Lance nodded approvingly at her, withdrawing his wallet from his pocket but then faltered when she put the clothes down by the register and he actually got to _look_ at her.

"Gurk!" Lance gurgled, making a strangled noise as he looked at her. She was wearing a black crop top that looked one size to small and jeans that looked like they were painted on. Lance fancied himself someone who believed in the freedom of women to do just about whatever the hell they wanted - but this was too much even for him. This... this was hardly better than just being _naked_.

Laura turned to look at him, her head tilting to one side in question as he paused and then her eyes narrowing when she caught him staring at her.

"Wh...why... _these_ clothes specifically?" Lance asked hesitantly, his eye twitching as he turned to paw through the other clothes the girl had brought forward to purchase. He was unsurprised to find that they were almost all the same as what she was presently wearing - scandalously small.

"Easy to move in." was Laura's perfunctory answer. Her stance became closed, and her elbows shifted ever so slightly backwards to make it easier for her to shove those metal claws of hers into the first person to get within range of her.

"That's- I don't-" Lance paused to take a deep breath. Was he like this when they had pulled him out of the forest? Was this some kind of cosmic balancing of the scales, the universes way of punishing him for past transgressions by putting him through what Arthur once had to in order to get _him_ ready for normal society?

"There's... your showing an awful lot of skin though...?" Lance tried desperately, raising his hands into the air placatingly. He ignored the amused snicker from the shopkeeper who was watching the entire ordeal unfold before him. Lance appreciated that the man was now more comfortable around them, or, at the very least, didn't suspect them of trying to rob him. But that didn't mean he liked being laughed at either.

"Armor is heavy. Inefficient. I heal, so exposed skin is a minimal risk." the girl rattled off, like she was making a report to a superior officer. Which, in a very technical sense, he was but...

"...Do... do you _like_ them?" Lance asked hesitantly. Laura blinked once languidly, then looked down at the black shirt she was wearing, which read in giant blood spattered lettering; Megadeath. She poked at the words once as though considering the question, then looked back up at him, nodding once.

"Then that's what we'll get then..." Lance said, finally acquiescing. What he didn't say aloud was the fact that he planned on coming back later to buy her some baggier god damn clothes. He was sure if he couched it right he could get her to wear it. As long as it was useful to her Laura should have no problem with it...

 **Interlude: Laura**

Quickly handing over the tags for the clothes she was already wearing, Laura watched Lance count out the cash required to pay for all of her clothes with an impassive expression on her face. She was surprised at the ease with which she had gotten her way. She wasn't _stupid_. She was perfectly aware of the reason Lance was uncomfortable with her present garb. But she had wanted to see what he would do when he disagreed with her. Would he punish her? Yell? Hurt her? So far the answer to all of those questions was a resounding 'maybe'. It could be that Lance had truly given up on arguing with her - which would be a mark in his favor. It could also be that Lance would remain neutral on the topic until they had returned to his home, where he would then put her in her place.

She had to resist the urge to snort in derision. Every iota of the espionage training she had been put through told her that Lance was what her old trainers would call 'An Easy Mark'. He was unbearably nice. Idly, she put a thought towards the offer for protection one of the local pimps had extended towards her. She had, until just recently, been considering accepting that offer. She was under no illusion as to what she would be doing in _exchange_ for such protection, but as Lance had probably just learned, the amount of value Laura placed on her body and its sanctity was nearly non existent.

"Ready to go Laura?" Lance said, lifting the two shopping bags of clothing and turning to face her with a strained smile on his face. She nodded once at him, seeing no reason to say anything more. It was still... strange. Lance phrased everything as a request, instead of an order. It was a terrible way to make someone do something. What would happen if she just said no? Would he wait? Leave without her? Command her to follow?

Was this what paranoia was? How was she supposed to function like this? She wished he would just tell her what to do and leave it at that instead of treating her like a person. She understood objectively that she _was_ in fact a person, and further grasped that deep in her heart living a normal life with a loving parent was all she actually wanted out of the crap sack that was her existence.

But that didn't change the fact that she had to be wary. It wasn't like this was the first time someone had helped her. It was just the first time someone had helped her and then not immediately tried to get _recompense_ for it. Then again it _had_ only been two days. She... wanted... to trust Lance. But in the back of her head the memory remained. A memory of red glowing eyes, and a haunting animalistic voice.

 ** _'We. Are. lanceLoT.'_**

She tried very hard not to shudder at the thought as they walked up the street. Clearly though, she had failed, because the older man ahead of her stopped and turned a disapproving gaze on her for a second before stripping off the hoodie he had been wearing and throwing it at her.

"I just _knew_ you were going to get cold wearing that." He grumbled, waiting patiently for her to put the sweater on. She merely blinked in surprise at the thing. She had no idea how someone who she knew to be every bit the monster she was could also be the kind of man who would take the shirt off his own back to keep a stranger warm.

But of course, that was the whole reason she had followed him home wasn't it?

She quickly pulled the hoodie over her head, ignoring the way that it came down to her mid thigh, hindering her movement slightly. It smelled of cheap soap and perspiration, with just the slightest tang of concrete hidden beneath the other scents. It wasn't a pleasant smell all things considered, not to enhanced senses like hers, but it was... oddly comforting.

Seeing her once more ready to proceed Lance rolled his eyes at her, and then continued his stride back towards his home. Laura's gaze remained trained on his back the entire way there.

Lance opened the door to his apartment and immediately knew that something was wrong. First and foremost, the dead bodies were gone - which was good, but not, overall, a sign of good things to come. Second, there was a man sitting in his living with his feet up on the table. Again, not the end of the world... except he was still wearing his boots. His grimy, dirt covered boots. On his table. That he _ate_ from. And third...

The ringing sound of metal claws extending behind caused Lance to wince as he mentally drew upon his Prana to enhance his body and clad himself in his armor. With practiced ease he dropped the bags of clothing to either side of him and stepped forward into his living room.

"Wait here." he hissed at Laura, who merely eyed him suspiciously before settling into a crouch with her claws still extended. Lance really didn't want to get into a fight right now. For one thing, he was pretty sure the first scent of blood in the air would send Laura into a frenzy, one that _he_ would have to deal with if he wanted to have any hope of stopping her from killing everyone on this floor of the apartment. For another, he didn't actually know who this person was. For all he knew the man sitting in his living room could kill them both with an errant thought. He doubted that was the case obviously, but stranger things had happened.

"I'll thank you to remove your filthy feet from my table knave." He declared calmly, sensing the silent return of his Saber, his Berserker, and to his great chagrin, _Eddie_. It had been sort of nice not having a war council constantly running in his head all day. He added figuring out what had silenced them in the first place to his list of things to do, and then turned his attention back to the figure sitting in his living room. He was a balding black man wearing a black turtleneck sweater beneath a black long coat and black slacks. It would have worked well as night camouflage if it wasn't the middle of the afternoon. As it was, coupled with the single eyepatch covering his left eye, it just seemed so very, _very_ pretentious.

"Oh, my apologies. I just wanted to put my feet up after cleaning the mess I found when I got here." The man said with a smirk as his feet dropped to the ground and he turn to regard Lancelot in full.

"And I thank you for their disposal." Lancelot said neutrally, eyeing his new guest expectantly. They stared at each other in silence for a moment, each man trying to assert dominance over the other, until the one eyed man gave up, rolling his singular eye with a chuckle.

"You're a very hard man to find Lancelot. No citizenship, no health card, no legal income. Tell me, what were a bunch of paramilitary goons doing in your living room - and why shouldn't I arrest you for killing them?" He said, a shark like smile spreading across his face.

"Sir. It is 'Sir Lancelot'. And those foolish men invaded my home with the intent to steal away my young charge. I should think seeing to the defense of ones own is something any true man can sympathize with." Lancelot pointed out, summoning Arondight into existence and planting it into the ground tip first just to drive home his point. Obviously he _knew_ that just killing anyone who broke into your home was still murder, just like he knew that he hadn't actually killed any of those men - but the man before him was clearly trying to use their deaths as leverage of some kind. Which meant that the truth meant far less than Lancelot would like.

 _'So we're not using contractions anymore when the armor is on I see.'_ Saber pointed out drolly.

 _'Shut up.'_ Lance groused.

"...Well 'Sir' Lancelot. My name is Nick Fury, Director of Shield. And I have a proposition for you." The man said narrowing his gaze on the sword in Lancelot's hand and tapping his finger twice fast against the seemingly naked wrist of his other hand.

Lancelot of course, knew better than to trust the sudden motion, mostly because the second the man made it his enhanced hearing allowed him to detect the sound of people rappelling down from his roof.

"If those men break my window I will kill you." Lancelot said flatly. He wasn't sure he actually meant it, but he was definitely beginning to become annoyed with people breaking into his apartment. It had happened three times in as many days now and the last thing he needed was to pay to have the glass fixed.

Nick Fury - dumb name in Lancelot's opinion - looked momentarily surprised by the declaration, but quickly reclaimed his balance grunting once and tapping his fingers in a different pattern on his wrist. The men Lancelot could hear approaching still came... but when they came into sight just outside his window they stopped, hanging in silent vigil just outside of his apartment.

"See? We're all _friends_ here. So, as a friend, I'd like if you could tell me something." Nick Fury said, reaching into his coat and withdrawing several blurry photos. He dropped them on the table to his side, watching Lance all the while for some sign of recognition. Lancelot's eyes widened slightly at the sight before him, because blurry though the pictures may be, they very clearly displayed him. Well... they didn't _clearly_ display him. They displayed an indistinct shape mid stride as it tore through goblin masked goons at the FEAST center. Lancelot blessed the stars above for his Noble Phantasm For Someone's Glory, because he was certain that without it this conversation would go very differently. As it was he couldn't see a reason why this Nick Fury would be showing him this. Unless...

Lancelot's gaze flicked back up to Nick, who's face was twisted once more into that smug grin, and he felt a cold dread in the pit of his stomach.

"See, this thing _also_ claims to be Lancelot. I'd say it's mighty coincidental, but I don't believe in coincidences." Nick said pointedly.

And suddenly, Lancelot felt that he had a whole lot lying to do if he wanted to get out of this without killing everyone present.

 **-ooo-**

 **What up. So as much as it seems like Laura trusts Lance now I want to illustrate the fact that she's a trained spy and is mostly just going along with Lance because she has basically 0 sense of self preservation. Keep in mind that in the original Nyx storyline she basically gave herself up to a Pimp who didn't even know or ask her name simply because the guy told her to. She was** ** _that_** **dead inside. Calling the earliest iteration of x-23 a mostly unthinking doll would not be a completely inaccurate summation of the character. She's still a totally sensible human teenager under all the trauma and shit, but having just come from murdering her way out of a lab where she was basically forced to kill her own mother she's obviously got alot of issues to work out. As a point of fact I'm also snipping out some parts of X-23's timeline in that she hasn't ever been to the X-mansion or met wolverine yet.**

 **Not much else to say but that. In a lot of respects A fully incarnated Servant like Lancelot is pretty far beyond what most of the characters in the Marvel universe could reasonably handle, but their** ** _are_** **a fair number of guys who could probably kick the shit out of Lancelot. It's just, Lancelot is unlikely to ever** ** _meet_** **those people if he's not a part of one or another super team. I haven't actually decided where he'll end up, so don't assume he's going to be an Avenger just because he's talking to Nick Fury. X-23 is wanted by Shield after all.**

 **Oh and as always.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


	5. Issue 5 - Incessant Interruptions

Lance and Fury exchanged heated looks for a time. Outwardly, it was a meeting of two men of indomitable will. Men who had stared into the abyss and found it _wanting._ Inwardly however, was very much a different story.

 _'Be calm. You are in no danger here. If we must, we can slay them all and escape. Their knights cannot stand against us, so their footsoldiers would doubtless fall in droves.'_ Saber stated calmly. There was no doubt or hesitation in that statement. No remorse at the thought of killing his way out of his problems at need. This was characteristic of the one who had deadened his heart in order to continue being a knight under Arturia. It was most efficient way to solve the problem. Lance couldn't say the tempation to just fight it out didn't exist - after all Saber was just him under slightly different circumstances. But he was still hesitant to jump immediately to such a scorched earth way of doing things. Perhaps it was the time he had spent acclimating to modern life. He just felt that - at the very least - a truly heinous crime would have to be committed to spur him to that kind of action.

Which left him with the advice from the other two voices in his head.

 **'SlAy tHem alL!'** Cried out his Berserker, the mindless killing machine that had forsaken all the values Lancelot had held dear for love.

 _'Looks like some black bag shit to me. SHIELD's a government agency so if you piss him off he might just dissappear us or call the Avengers or some shit.'_ Eddie pointed out helpfully.

 _'Black bag?'_ Lance asked with some strain in his tone. He _hated_ interacting with Eddie Brock. Despite having stolen the mans body, acknowledging the existence of his consciousness somewhere within left Lance feeling as though he were wading through oil. It felt wrong on a fundamental level. He wondered briefly if that feeling was normal for two minds forcibly melded together. He supposed he could explain the lack of the sensation with his other passengers if he just remembered that they were all still 'him'.

Still, he would have to weather it this once. He needed help, and Eddie - unfortunately - had the greatest understanding of what was going on.

 _'Under the table. Behind the scenes. You know, the guys who do the dirty work that you goody two shoes types refuse to touch.'_ Eddie sneered.

Lance suddenly felt himself pale, and the idea of killing everyone and running away began to hold greater merit in his mind. He wasn't afraid of the so called criminal element, and he would face anyone in a fair fight. But if there was one area Lance had always found himself lacking, it was in planning. Plotting and backstabbing, politics and backroom deals. These were the thing _most_ of the Knights of the Round Table would have, just as Eddie said, prefer no to acknowledge at all.

But that was just it. _Most_ of the knights. Among his fellows there was one man that Lancelot knew he would never be able to stand against should his ire ever truly be raised. One man who, by using everything at his disposal, could play a situation as easily as one might play chess.

"Agravain..." Lance muttered, his brows furrowing slightly.

"Friend of yours?" Nick asked, raising an eyebrow and maintaining his air of unflappability.

"In a manner of speaking." Lance said with a wince. He and Agravain had... not gotten along. During his lifetime even just the barest touch of the darkness Agravain was lord over was enough to distress him. It was such machinations that had eventually seen him harden his heart and fall down the path that led to Saber after all. They had disagreed on matters of policy often, and loudly. Thinking back on it though, if Arturia had held to Agravain's wishes more often, would things have gone differently? Would Camelot still exist?

"T'is no matter. If I explain, will you leave me and my charge in peace?" Lance said, offering an olive branch. This was the best he could do given his current situation. Agravain would have lied. Tristan would have charmed and beleaguered them - speaking much but ultimately saying nothing. But him? He was Lancelot. He was forthright and honest because, at the end of the day, nothing lived to tell the tale that came at him from the front.

 _'Also, we are terrible at lying and not very charming conversationalists.'_ Saber chimed in to his thoughts.

 _'...that to.'_ He admitted.

"That depends. I can't promise to let you go if you turn out to be a threat now can I?" Fury said mockingly. Lance wondered if he knew how quickly his head could become separated from his shoulders. He must at least _believe_ himself to be safe or he wouldn't push his luck so.

Lance weighed his options. He supposed that as long as killing everyone present was on the table he should fear no duplicity from this man...

"Fine. As you no doubt already grasp I am Sir Lancelot Du Lac, Knight of the Round Table. Several months ago I was summoned from the Throne of Heroes by-" Lance narrated quickly hoping to get this over with but then paused when Fury raised a hand in the universal gesture for stop. It annoyed him to have to obey the mans commands but he held back his irritation and stopped, darting a glance back to Laura who remained crouched in the shadows of his entryway. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, and her hands flexed open and shut rapidly as if in preparation for a fight.

Silly girl. She should know that any knight who required his squire to fight would be ashamed of their own weakness. She merely had to wait and he would usher her away from these men.

"What _exactly_ is the 'Throne of Heroes'." Fury said, leaning forward slightly as he awaited an answer.

"It is..." Lance paused, trying to find the best way to describe the Throne.

"The Throne is... a record of sorts. When a Hero's deeds echo across the land, their myth, their _story_ becomes immortalized upon the Throne of Heroes." He said at last.

"So then Iron Man would be there." Fury posited, putting his hands together and pointing with both index fingers at him.

"Who?" Lance asked, mildly curious. If this Iron Man could obtain a position on the Throne in this modern age so completely devoid of inconvenience then -

"Iron Man? Red and gold armor? Flies around in a suit that costs more than the GDP of some countries? Breaks them regularly? Kind of a dick?" Fury supplied somewhere between amused and incredulous. From his tone Lance took it that the man was somewhat famous. Naturally Lance - who had no interest in most superheroes - had no idea who it was. Though the description did tickle his memory...

 _'The red knight that chased us from the shelter.'_ Saber supplied tiredly.

Oh. That would explain why he could barely remember him. He was so far below what Lance would consider 'competent' or a 'threat' that he had spent most of the encounter trying to avoid hurting the civilians around him.

"No. You misunderstand - only _Heroes_ may ascend to the Throne. Men and women so legendary that they have become permanently enshrined in the collective consciousness of mankind." Lance tried to explain, but grew increasingly confused by Nicks stormy expression.

"So, what, there's a whole reality where you and King Arthur and all your other little pals hang out? And they're all as strong as this Black Lancelot? You still haven't explained why there's two of you either." The one eyed man said with a click of his tongue. Lance blinked at him for a moment before finally grasping why he was so worried.

"You need not fear the Throne. There is no possibility that you will suffer invasion from that direction. In the first place the Throne is a final resting place for legends. None of us are what you would call 'awake' while we abide there. It takes a summoning to manifest one of us, and the mystical might required to summon just myself for a few seconds would be impossible to maintain. The dead are not meant to walk the earth, and so the earth rejects us as a matter of course." Lance offered, seeing just a shade of Agravain in this man. Certainly they weren't friends, and likely never would be, but Lance could at least sympathize with his worries.

"Then how are there _two of you_." Nick stated flatly his body tensing as though he expected repeating his question to anger Lancelot. Truthfully he had been glazing over that _exact_ question on purpose. Mostly because he didn't know how to answer it.

"I was summoned... wrong." Lancelot began with a wince.

"Uhuh." Nick grunted sarcastically, clearly unimpressed.

"The men who summoned me banded together to draw me forth, and then bound me up in this body. As a result they drew forth not only me, but that... other... me." Lance added slowly. He ignored Nicks disdain, and did his best to skirt the fact thay he had stolen this body.

 _'Yeah it'd make you look like a real prick if that were to come out wouldn't it?'_ Eddie grunted from within his subconscious.

 _'Haven't you literally eaten people?'_ Saber asked blandly.

' _Yes_.' **'yEs'**

Lancelot chose not to acknowledge the extra voice that had answered, but had to acknowledge Eddies point regardless. Even in his own time he was fairly certain Merlin or Arturia would have stomped out any existence as twisted as he, regardless of the circumstances.

"There were two of you? Funny, that doesn't come up in your myth all that often." Nick asserted irately. Lancelot could actually see the man thinking through all the ramifications of the Throne in real time. He had assumed that anyone with knowledge of magecraft or its existence in this era would have a passing knowledge of the Throne if not exactly how it worked or what it did. Now that Nick was acting like this, he was beginning to wonder if explaining was such a good idea after all.

"Once one ascends to the Throne, it gathers records of your entire existence. Not just 'me' but the entity known as 'Lancelot' across all dimensions. Every version of myself and every disparate opinion I ever made are collected there. The... Black Lancelot you are worried about is from a timeline where I... he is evil. Suffice to say that I regret that even that small portion of myself sank to such depths." Lancelot explained, darting a glance to Laura and changing what he was going to say mid sentence. He had no issue recalling the events that led to his Berserker's madness - but he felt no need to put those actions on display for a stranger to judge either.

"I see. Alright, last question then. What do you plan to do now?" Nick asked after taking a moment to compartmentalize what was no doubt a massive investigation into Lancelot's history. He peered at Lance with a sudden calmness that practically cleared away his early irritation.

"Seek work." Lancelot said, snorting lightly. What was the man expecting him to say? It wasn't as though he held any interest in bring back Camelot. His comrades had lived and died as heroes - he had no need to besmirch their legacy by digging it up and starting all over again. Although speaking of their legacy...

"Possibly visit Britain." He added as an after thought.

-ooo-

Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, a man best known for being the best spy that ever lived, stared at Lancelot with a cool detachment. It wasn't that he didn't believe Lancelot - his micro expressions alone were enough to tell Nick the man would be a shit poker player. But the question he had to ask himself was this;

Could he allow an individual such as Lancelot to roam free? He didn't have enough knowledge of the mans capabilities to accurately decide. He _did_ know however that he was mostly unworried by the team of agents he had brought with him. So he had to take what he did know, and decide what he wanted to do with it.

He could - if he was so inclined - cause the life model decoy he was using (because of course he wasn't dumb enough to get that close to a hostile personally) to detonate. That would give him a good idea of his capabilities. But it would also piss him off.

Which was the problem basically. Normal people - even metahumans - had handles. They had goals, dreams, interests, attachments. Lancelot lacked almost all of that - which meant that he was much closer to a natural disaster than a person in Nicks view.

And then there was that answer. 'Seek work'. But not with SHIELD. Which meant the odds were good it'd be against SHIELD.

These thoughts, and many more like them, flew through Fury's mind so quickly that hardly even a moment had passed between Lancelots statement and now. Snap decisions were fine and good, but that didn't mean you didn't consider them. It just meant you considered them faster.

He was just about ready to pull the trigger on his LMD's built in bomb when an interesting fact occurred to him. Lancelot had been eyeballing the urchin he'd picked up pretty often. At first Nick figured going that route would just set the guy off, but if he could come at it from another angle, well, he'd have his handle now wouldn't he?

The only thing that remained to be seen was _how_ much of a handle. Intel said they'd been together for a few days at most. Nick supposed that would have to be enough.

He quickly saved an image of the girl through his private up-link to the SHIELD helicarrier, and then stood up. How was he supposed to extract again? Right. Break the windows and jump to the helicopter.

 _"If those men break my window, I will kill you."_

Probably best to avoid that then. It was irksome, because 'take the elevator to the roof' was a somewhat less dramatic exit than he preferred, but he wasn't just going to leave an LMD laying around if he didn't absolutely _need_ to reveal he was using one.

"Alright _Sir_ Lancelot. I'll get out of your hair. We'll talk again soon." He said nonchalantly.

'Right after I do some digging on the girl and my team tells me who the stiffs were.' He added silently.

And then he pivoted on one foot and walked out the door. He ignored the - achingly familiar - growl the girl let off as he passed within an inch of her, instead opting to have his LMD's hardware collect every piece of data it could on her during the brief moment of contact.

He frowned as he considered that. It _was_ a familiar growl. Unfortunately Nick had led a very _interesting_ life. Humans growling at him was hardly unique.

Closing the door behind him he once more affirmed that he was going to find someone to replace him so he could retire. Just as soon as someone better than him showed up.

Which, of course, would be never.

-ooo-

Lance watched Nick exit his apartment with only half a mind for where he was going afterwards. Laura was still crouched and watching the door like an attack dog so if something surprising was liable to happen after this then he would at least have forewarning.

Clear on that fact he stood and .the window, staring at the soldiers climbing back up their ropes to the roof. They had hung their, weapons at the ready for the majority of his conversation, and he had let them because - they really could t hurt him. Not with a mere gun anyway.

However that did not mean he thought privacy held no value, so as the last man was going up he knocked on the window for his attention. When he was sure he had it - it was hard to tell through the mans headgear - he pointed at a roof several buildings away. When the soldier failed to take his meaning he sighed, summoning Arondight for emphasis. Then he pointed at the distant roof again, where he could distantly here someone being relayed orders via radio. He presumed it was an archer of some skill to be positioned so far away.

"Move him or I will." Lancelot said plainly, trying to be loud enough to be heard through the glass. The soldier stared at him dumbfounded for a time before scrambling for a radio on his belt and hurriedly saying something into it. Lance didn't know what because had already stopped reinforcing his hearing. There was a lot that happened in the city at night that he would much prefer not to hear.

Satisfied Lance turned away after pulling his curtains shut.

"Laura, it's fine, they're leaving." He said, noting the girls continued stare at the door.

"Don't like him." She murmured, standing back up to her full height.

"I suspect most people don't." Lance chuckled, relaxing himself and remembering Agravain's profuse lack of anything even vaguely resembling a friend.

"..."

"Come on. We still have to get groceries." Lance said pleasantly, noting the time and realizing with a click of the tongue that most stores would be closing soon. They could still make it to a grocery store in time, but it would be a rush job at best. Still, he had a _body_ which meant he had to _eat_.

"..."

Quickly dismissing his armor and sword, Lance plodded past Laura to the front door, grabbing the bag of clothes he had left there upon first entering and walking back to his living room to place it on the coffee table. Squinting he could just make out the imprint of a boot on the table and he frowned, making a mental note to get Clorox wipes for the thing. He doubted his constitution would allow him to grow sick as a result of something as trivial as dirt, but Laura seemed like she was going to be with him for the foreseeable future, and claws aside, there was no doubt in his mind that she was a normal human.

"..."

Rising from the table, Lance turned and froze when he finally took the time to examine his squire. She had yet to move from her position by the door, and was staring blankly at it as if in confusion. Her entire body was trembling, though it didn't seem to be as a result of fear. Rather, her hands twitched periodically as though to swat away an invisible assailant. All things told she seemed like an overstimulated cat that had no idea what to do with all it's pent up aggression.

"Hey, hey lets go for a run." Lance said, putting a gentle hand on the twitching girls shoulder. He spared a foul thought for the people who had made her like this, so completely trained to fight and die at their whim that when confrontation was avoided she had no idea what to do. It became yet another thing on Lance's list of things to correct. So much training. So little... well... money.

"Where?" She growled, whipping her head around to stare at him with eyes full of a beast like hunger.

"Just keep up." Lance said, patting his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet. Then he opened the door and waited for Laura to follow behind him. The second she had clear the door he slammed it shut, quickly locking it, and then sprinted for the fire escape. He didn't enhance his body at all, relying purely on the above human norm strength and speed already present in Eddie's body, and was surprised to find Laura loping along next to him, keeping up smoothly.

And so seeing that, Lance - who was after all, raised by the fae, highly competitive, and just a bit of a sore loser - poured on the speed. He shouldered open the door to the fire escape, and instead of taking the criss-crossing stair case downward, _leapt_ from the eleventh floor landing, catching himself on the railing of the escape somewhere near the fifth floor. He looked upward, expecting to see his squire staring down at him with awe, or fear, or... something. Instead he saw a pair of boots flying towards him at ludicrous speeds. Flustered by the apparent suicide of his disciple, he reinforced himself, expecting to have to snatch her from the air as she shot past. Instead, just before she would pass him, her hands shot out, grabbing the floor of the landing above him for just long enough to slow her fall, then released, swinging onto the landing he was hanging from and whirling around as if to leap after him.

Only he hadn't moved, because he was too busy trying to figure out what constituted human in the current time period. He probably would have continued to ponder just that question, but of course the _growling_ started up again, and he knew he had to get a move on.

"Not bad. Not _safe_ either. But not bad." So saying, Lance levered himself up and then kicked off of his resting place, launching himself across the alley below and landing with a roll on the gravel topped roof of the next building over. He marveled at the sheer variety of the buildings here. In Camelot, all the homes were of a roughly uniform height, allowing lookouts from the castle walls an unimpeded view of the settlement. Here though, no such concern existed, and human ingenuity had sprung up to fill the space that no peasant had dared to occupy before.

 _'Can you see it Arturia? This, the humanity that you defended with your life.'_ He mused. He was aware that not everyone from America was a descendant of someone from the British Isles. But he would be lying if he said he wasn't biased in his belief that his Kings actions had directly lead to the creation of the modern world.

Glancing back to ensure Laura could make the jump, Lance no longer concerned himself with weather or not she could keep up with him. He was living purely in the moment, in a way that neither Saber, nor Berserker could anymore. Like a child experiencing life for the first time he charged forward at a steady pace, leaping across buildings and sliding down fire escapes. He and Laura crossed the city well above the normal populace, the wind flowing freely past them.

When finally they began to approach their destination Lance landed in an alleyway with a soft thud, breathing slightly fast from the exertion, and was shortly accompanied by Laura who - lacking his durability - leapt from ledge to window to garbage can - before coming down in a roll next to him. Unlike himself, _she_ was breathing hard, having clearly pushed herself to the limit to keep up with him. He applauded her dedication. Using sheer skill she had overcome the relative difference in their physical dispositions. Even more than that, she seemed to be almost - but not quite - smiling. Rather than saying she was happy it was more as though she was satisfied. A pleasant warmth emanated from her, and Lance couldn't help by smile at her as she drew even with him, heaving for air.

"Any preference?" He said as he walked forward, out of the alley and in to the grocery store. Laura - still very much out of breath - merely shook her head in the negative.

"Great. The usual then." Lance said with false cheer, trying to stop his face from cramping up at the thought. His 'usual' was basically just as many cans of Chili and Ravioli as he could afford. It was - by _no_ stretch of the imagination - a true, or healthy diet. But given his monetary concerns there was really no other choice.

Or so he thought.

Despite having no stated preference in food Lance found within a few minutes of walking through the store that he had lost his squire. No not, lost, more left behind. Looking around in bewilderment the moment he noticed the lack of her presence, Lance eventually located the wayward girl standing fixedly in place, looking hungrily at an uncooked steak still neatly vacuum sealed in it's packaging. At first he lifted a hand to warn her away from the expensive item. But seeing the sheer desire in her gaze caused him to falter. Was not this the type of behavior he sought to encourage? Did not normal teenagers have selfish thoughts and desires?

So Lance, with a heavy heart, withdrew his wallet and winced at the handful of bills within it. Once he subtracted what he had already paid for her clothes he imagined he had enough money to survive for quite a while but... if he bought groceries with a normal well adjusted humans diet in mind then... that time span shrunk rapidly. Still he glanced back and forth between the unaware girl and his wallet before firming his resolve and plastering a smile on his face.

He stepped forward, picking up the steak and holding it towards the girl who he had decided to take custody of.

"Grab a cart would you?" He said, when she seemed confused by the gesture. She hesitated for a second before complying, grabbing the steak and striding away to get a cart like she owned the place. Lance didn't bother taking offense to the frightened shoppers she nearly bowled over on her way to her goal. That would come with time.

Probably.

When the duo finally arrived at the cash registered, Lance who was already hurting because of his rapidly dwindling finances, found himself staring in dumbfounded shock at a copy of the Daily Bugle that was neatly folded along with all the other gossip magazines and publications of ill repute.

 **The Lethal Lancelot Strikes Again!**

 _Not more than a day after an armed murderer named Lancelot appeared in the downtown areas FEAST center,  
_ another _vigilante has appeared with the same name to foil the robbery of a local grocery store. Many people posit there may be a connection between the two individuals, but_ this _reporter is here to tell you that the two are one and the same! Do not trust -_

Lance felt his eye began to twitch as he continued to read, until the cashier coughed pointedly at him when it came his turn in the line. It was all he could do to flip the paper over to hide the picture of himself on its front. He didn't know if he should be impressed or offended by the article. But he _did_ know that it wouldn't do well for his attempts at finding a _job._ He paid for his groceries and carried them home with Laura while wondering about what he could do, when an unexpected voice chimed in with advice.

 _'Why don't you just go find the fuck and -'_ Eddie started.

 _'Ah! Excellent idea Eddie. I'll go talk to the man. He probably just misunderstood something.'_ Lance posited.

 _'I was actually thinking -'_ Eddie tried again.

 _'That will be all Eddie._ _Unless you know how to cook steak._ ' Lance said cutting him off.

 _'This fucker...'_ The unwanted voice in his head muttered.

-ooo-

The next day, Lance rose early. He had a lot to do and he wanted to do it quickly, because his primary concern was still definitely 'find a job'. Something that he obviously couldn't do so long as the papers were printing (technically true) things about him. Now, under normal circumstances, suddenly having a teenage girl living with him would cause an untold amount of trouble for Lance. He was under no illusion as to his ability to raise a child. And so he did the only logical thing he could.

He treated her like Arthur.

Blearily he stumbled up to his bedroom door and knocked politely on it. He made sure to knock near the hinges so as to avoid any possibility of accidentally opening the door with the force of his blows. He pointedly turned his head away from the door itself in case the woman inside opened it without considering her state of dress. He, essentially, did everything he used to do for Arthur in order to preserve the illusion that he did not know 'he' was a 'she'.

Honestly, how could _anyone_ mistake that woman for a man when she so frequently slept naked? Let alone her _face_.

Shaking his head to avoid falling into fond remembrance, Lance felt the door creak open under his grip. Carefully he nudged his gaze downward and was gratified to find that Laura had chosen to sleep in her clothes from yesterday. And her boots. And... actually she had just fallen into bed fully clothed hadn't she?

"Go shower and change." Lance he grunted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the tiny bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. Laura nodded once and the proceeded past him, allowing Lance the time to slip into his own bedroom and grab a change of clothes from his dresser, which he patiently laid out on the couch as he waited for Laura to finish -

His eyes fell on the bag of Laura's clothes still sitting on the living room table, taunting him with all the terrible things its presence could cause. So, instead of relaxing until it was his turn to shower, Lance dropped the bag on the floor in front of the bathroom, and then retreated around the corner to the kitchen where it would be impossible to see anyone coming out of the bathroom.

"Your clothes are in front of the door!" Lance yelled, pulling a box of cereal from his cupboard and marveling at the presence of actual milk in his fridge to eat it with.

An hour later, and both of them clean and dressed - Laura in another annoying tight top that he couldn't gainsay given the warm weather - the duo were ready to head out. Or rather, _Lance_ was ready to go out, and had intended for Laura to remain in the apartment doing whatever it was teenagers did when they were bored, but he ran into a snag pretty much immediately.

"You don't have to come with me you know?" He offered weakly.

"But I want to?" Laura said, making it a question and flinching as though she expected some reprisal for the simple statement of intent. And of course, how could Lance tell her she couldn't come after seeing _that?_

"Ah. Well. Sure." He finally acknowledged, turning away from her and heading towards the elevator. As they were walking up the hallway, a man in a gaudy yellow wheelchair exited from one of the elevators, his head whipping towards them in surprise as they approached each other. He was entirely bald, and wearing a charcoal grey suit that probably cost more money than Lance had ever owned even if he added up all the money he had earned since being summoned to this world. He had sharp, angular eyes and a determined expression that spoke of deep convictions and desires.

"Mister Lake? I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time to -" The man called from up the hallway. Lance took in the entire situation all at once. He absorbed the fact that not a single day had gone by without someone coming to disturb his daily life. He accepted that this was his life now, and that no, he probably couldn't stop it from happening. But that didn't mean he had time for this right now. So he took the single most villainous action he had ever performed in his current lifetime.

He took one look at the mans wheel chair and then dragged Laura into the stairwell, neatly bypassing him.

"Mister Lake!?" The bald man called after them, stopping at the top of the stairwell.

"Sorry! Don't have any money! Try the neighbors!" Lance called up after him hurriedly.

"But-!" The man tried to reply, but two flights down Lance judged their to be enough distance between them, and dragged Laura once more through the door into the ninth floor where he promptly headed towards the elevator.

One old man down... one to go.

Somewhere in the city, J. Jonah Jameson, felt a shiver run down his spine.

 **-ooo-**

 **Hello! I wanted to clarify a few things because it came up alot in the reviews. I'm actually very aware that Galahad was a man, and Mash was just sort of fused with his Saint Graph, but relative to this story I just thought it would be more amusing to treat Mash as Galahad and leave it at that. It's not really a super relevant plot point outside of Lance using it to fuck with people who think they know the myth so it shouldn't be too much trouble to ignore if it bothers you.**

 **I also feel I should say that when I say Lance wouldn't have any problems with most enemies at present, it's because he's unlikely to ever** ** _meet_** **the more powerful characters in the Marvel universe on a day to day basis. Thanos doesn't exactly hang out in the dive bars of Manhattan you know? His close proximity to Spiderman means he's most likely to encounter Spiderman villains currently - who are basically all trivial threats to Lancelot with a few rare exceptions. I didn't mean to say that Lancelot was all powerful - because I'm** ** _very_** **well aware that characters like say, the Hulk would beat him up and down the street eventually, but it bears accepting that a Servant especially a high spec one like Lancelot who's been enshrined in a living body to provide it with Prana, would be an absolute monster for most enemies below the Omega Level. Remember that Lance is basically operating at the same level as guys like Daredevil and the Punisher right now. That will obviously change eventually but at the moment, eh.**

 **Oh and on that note, Lance could lift the Hammer because he's worthy. Duh. In a similar vein, remember that this Lance isn't the one that lost his shit and became Berserker. His memories of his kids aren't quite as completely shit as** ** _that_** **Lancelots, though he does have access to the shittier memories.**

 **Well, I think that should be everything. Expect more actual action next chapter. It's kind of hard to write Lancelot getting into a lot of fights when, as a person, he's just not very predisposed to suddenly killing everything in a room. I am planning on having Berserker play a larger part as we go forward, but you'll note he's a lot like Hulk that way - he has** ** _triggers_** **.**

 **OH and as always.**

 **Thanks for reading.**


	6. Issue 6 - The Legal Lancelot

The Daily Bugle building was situated deep in the core of Manhattans downtown area. As one of the best known publications in the city, purveyor of an entirely paper based medium that had managed to survive in a mostly digital age, it stool tall and proud. Well. Proud wasn't really the word Lance would use given how obviously disreputable the publication had become since the advent of it's owners feud with Spider-Man. But something approaching pride possibly. It was a fairly typical office building all things considered. A rectangular block of concrete with outward facing windows perfectly lined up on each floor, the glare of the sun against the glass blocking a casual observers view of their insides. Sitting atop the building, in huge white letters that were probably visible across most of the city, were the words Daily Bugle, wrought in steel and bolted to the roof.

Truthfully, Lance had never quite gotten accustomed to the idea of a building this large existing. At least not one that held no defensive purpose. In his time, not only would a building this tall have required magic in order to remain upright, it just wouldn't have served any _purpose_. A tall building was merely an easier target for those enemies with the ability to assault them. True he lived in a fairly tall apartment building himself, but its run down nature and barely cared for state aligned much better with his view of such buildings as 'useless' than a pristine office such as the Bugle.

"Cameras." Laura murmured under her breath, just loud enough for Lance to hear without being immediately noticeable to the plethora of people passing them by on the way to their morning commutes. Since leaving the relative safety of his apartment for the streets she had affected a sort of faux casual stance, with her hands swinging loosely at her sides in a way reminiscent of an excited child. Her face and the tension in her lithe frame spoke otherwise though. Her mouth was set in a thin line, and her jaw tightened in a show of grim determination. Her hands were only waving so freely because it would be easier to release her claws and attack if they weren't in her pockets.

"We aren't here to attack anyone though..." Lance explain for the umpteenth time since leaving his apartment, though he did quickly glance around to take note of the small black installations hanging in and around the building that Laura was referring to.

Instead of responding directly to his statement she merely growled deep in her throat, squaring her shoulders as Lance tentatively reached forward to push the rotating doors at the front entrance of the building out of his way. He had explained to Laura, in as clear a way as he could, that he had intended to come to the Bugle in order to lodge a complaint with it's owner over his portrayal in the rag.

While it was certainly true that there _was_ a connection between 'Black Lancelot' and himself, he took great offence to being referred to as 'The Lethal Lancelot' in the most recent publication of the paper. More so than that, as a knight it was important to him that his deeds and actions not be misrepresented, lest he damage the honor of whoever he eventually ended up serving under.

Oh he knew the offers would be forthcoming. And he was fine with that. As much as he had resented Nick Fury, and outright avoided the man in the wheelchair, Lancelot knew very well that he was not, in fact, a good leader. He would never hold power over an organization, or a kingdom. His was merely to serve to his utmost.

Which was something he would never be allowed to do if he was demonized the same way Spider-Man was.

Laura however had taken this rough explanation of his goals and intent somewhat... differently. She had apparently latched onto to the words 'Honor' and 'Serve' and promptly decided that the best course of action was to apply violence to his problems. Not to murder the man at fault of course, because Lance knew very well that the girl was doing her utmost to avoid being a mere weapon of death. But merely to force upon him the proper respect. She hadn't said all that in so many words, but the girl was slowly becoming easier for him to read. At least _that_ was a small blessing.

"Welcome to the Daily Bugle, do you have an appointment?" Asked the rather pretty woman sitting behind the desk just in the entryway of the building. She had brown hair that came down to her chin, with the bangs trimmed out of the way in a straight line that projected a sense of professionalism to anyone speaking to her. She smiled slightly as he approached, but only slightly, as though even her smile was merely a formality for her.

"Well, no but the Bugle recently published a story about me and I was hoping-" Lance lead cautiously, not wanting to scare the poor woman. He knew that if he really wanted to he could simply scale the building and explode into J. Jonah Jameson's office when he eventually caught sight of him through a window - but part of being a knight was not using your power to lord over the common folk. Naturally 'the common folk' weren't quite the same bread as he was accustomed to, now being much better educated and able to defend themselves than in his own time, but the point stood. He would not be using his abilities to simply bluster his way forward. It was unbecoming of a man such as he.

 _'It would also mark you as a 'Supervillain'. Such a strange appellation that. Why differentiate between a normal and a superior villain?'_ His Saber supplied thoughtfully. Lance felt his lips twitch upward slightly at the remark before settling back into his stern but friendly stare. Reacting to voices in your head that only you could hear was not generally seen as a sign of stability whether that be in his time or now.

"I'm sorry to hear that sir. I'll find the contact information for our legal team for you and forward your complaint to the appropriate department." The woman said with all the smoothness of someone who has had to say that one too many times to far too many people.

"No I was simply hoping to speak to about his portrayal of me in his paper. Being branded 'The Lethal Lancelot' is extremely detrimental to my ability to find and obtain work and-" Lance began, trying to explain the problem to the woman in a way that wouldn't come across as threatening.

" _Your_ Lancelot?" She squawked in surprise, leaning away from him and getting a look of fear in her rapidly widening eyes. Lance stared at the women in confusion for a second before turning to Laura.

"Are men with purple hair very common here?" He asked curiously, gesturing to his own hair for emphasis. Instead of answering directly, she merely shrugged noncommittally, never taking her eyes off the beleaguered secretary at the desk in front of them.

"It just seems as though it would be quite the defining feature..." Lance continued, trying to get Laura to actually answer when he spoke to her being one of the goals he had decided to set for himself going forward.

"...It's New York." Laura finally replied when he refused to let the topic drop, gesturing gingerly towards the crowd of people on the street who were blithely passing the building without any care for what was apparently happening inside at the moment. Lance turned his head slightly to regard them, still not quite sure what she meant until he realized that of the passersby, one in every ten carried an outlandish, occasionally _bright neon_ hair color. It couldn't have been natural - their simply weren't that many people in the world raised in constant exposure to fae magic for that to make any sense - but all the same it certainly demonstrated that 'outlandish hair colour' wasn't going to be an accurate identifier in the modern world.

"Huh. The more you know." He said with some amusement before turning back to the desk to find the secretary barely restraining a giggle as she watched him.

"You- haha- you really are a medieval knight aren't you?" She chortled after a second, her previous fear apparently having been overturned by his seeming naivete.

"Ah, ah. I resent that statement. The Medieval time period, or the 'Dark Ages' as you people refer to them didn't really begin until _after_ Arthur had fallen at Camlann." Lance corrected automatically. It had come as something of a shock to him that not only had Arthur's legacy been relegated to unsubstantiated myth, but that the entire time period he had lived in was collectively considered one of the worst times in human history to have lived.

"Heh. If you say so big guy. Hey if I get you up to see Jonah, do you think you could sign something for me? My room mate is going to love this." The woman gushed, leaning to one side and withdrawing a picture of him that had apparently been taken when he was leaving the robbery at the grocery store the other day. The angle on the picture was strange, like it had been taken from the roof of the building, and seemed more occupied with framing the police encirclement than actually showing he himself standing in the middle of it. Seeing it, he quirked an eyebrow upward. It definitely didn't show him in a good light but... the secretary didn't seem overly bothered by it so...

"Do you have a pen?" Lance asked after a moment to consider, lightly bumping Laura with his hip when it became obvious that she didn't know how to react to how friendly the woman was being all of a sudden. It was another habit that reminded him more of a life long soldier than the young girl she was meant to be. An inability to handle situations that weren't in some way combat related. Being on the cusp of a fight or altercation and then simply avoiding it seemed not just to confuse her, it almost seemed to actively _upset_ her. Or at least that's what Lance's take away was when she began to glare furiously at the woman who handed him the pen and picture to sign.

"Who do I make it out to...?" He asked just as he was about to press his pen to the glossy photo.

"Betty Brant." The woman said cheerfully with a wink, quickly taking the photo away after he had signed it and then shooting a grin at Laura that faded when she saw the teen vibrating with tension and fury.

"Ah... who might this be?" She asked, shifting slightly so that Lance was between Laura and herself.

"My Squire. Would you be able to check with soon? I have a lot to do today." He said pleasantly, trying to move the conversation along and divert attention away from Laura - mostly because he wasn't sure how long the two women could survive being in the same room as each other.

"R-right. Why don't you go on up and I'll let him know you're coming." She said after a second, her gaze snapping back to Lance and a more genuine, mischievous smile spread across her lips.

"I thought you had to convince him to see us?" Lance asked quizzically, even as Laura stomped over and jabbed roughly at the up button on the nearby elevator.

"Who do you think keeps track of his meetings? He mostly just spends all day smoking and yelling at his phone anyway. It'll be fine." Betty said dismissively. Lance was impressed. True a vassal that so disregarded the orders and authority of their lord was slightly off putting for him, but in this case it was just good sense. She had to realize that if Jameson demonized every Superhuman in the city it would quickly be brought to his attention that he was very much _not_ superhuman. Likely via violence.

 _'She would make a good Major Domo.'_ Saber noted idly, and Lance could feel his memory shifting slightly as that aspect of him committed the fact to memory.

 _'Bet she'd be a great lay too. She'd probably agree if you asked, the way she was giving you the doe eyes and shit.'_ Eddie chimed in, much to Lance's annoyance. If there was one thing he had no interest in during his second life, it was romance. It had been his downfall once upon a time. More so than that, his heart still firmly belonged to his sweet Guinevere.

Ignoring the voices in his head once more, Lance made his way to the elevator as it opened, only to stop with his foot halfway across the threshold. Then he turned back to Betty and waited expectantly, using his body to prevent the door from closing on Laura.

"Top floor, you can't miss it. Just follow the shouting." She called to him, waving him forward dismissively and reaching for the phone that sat on her next, presumably to call the man before they arrived.

Having confirmed his destination, Lance stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the top most floor before turning to regard Laura pensively.

"Laura, as my squire, can I trust you not to start a fight without my permission?" He asked, trying to keep his tone in the slightly stern but caring range he had so often been scolded by Vivian with.

 _"Little one, why must you fight so?" she had said to him on one cold evening when he had gotten into a fight he could not possibly have won. Two woodsman had strayed dangerously close to the lake his Lady resided in, and he had taken it into his head to defend her from them. It was only their reluctance to kill a child outright that had stayed their hands from landing the final blow on him, a cold comfort given that anyone else would have still died of blood loss alone and in the middle of the woods as he was._

 _"They would have found you my Lady! They would have despoiled the lake!" he had shouted indignantly._

 _"Dear child. Do you think yourself my equal? Perhaps even my better?" Vivian had scolded him as she attended to his injuries. Lovingly she submerged him in her waters until only his face was above the crystalline pool, and with each motion of her hand the blood and pain would fade, only to be replaced by a tingling numbness._

 _"No! Never my Lady! But those men-" He had started, nearly capsizing as he tried to push his numb extremities to lift him from the waters to argue with her._

 _"My child. You are my charge. My responsibility, just as this lake is. Did you think me incapable of defending both you and it?" She had whispered to him, gently forcing him back to a position on his back._

 _"But-" He had tried to retort but was again stopped when he fae who raised him 'mistakenly' allowed his mouth to fall below water level._

 _"Blessed child. It is for the strong to make a path for the weak. One day, I too will be weak, and maybe then you may show me your devotion and love. But not this day." She had chided firmly, ending the conversation._

"...Yes." Laura ground out, snapping Lance from his memories.

"Believe this Laura. Someday I most certainly _will_ require your help. But that day is not today." He said, tentatively reaching out to muss her hair. He wasn't sure if she had liked it or not given how flat her expression was by the time he had finished, but sincet she wasn't growling or scowling at him, he assumed that she didn't _hate it_ at least.

When the door of the elevator opened on the top floor of the Bugle, Lance was satisfied enough with his efforts to calm his Squire down that he failed to notice the lingering stare she leveled at his back as he walked past her. It was a small thing after all. And Laura was nothing if not prone to staring at people instead of speaking. But this time was different. It was a frank and open stare of befuddlement and hope that the girl had to consciously tamp down on lest she be disappointed once more by the never ending train wreck that was life.

"NO YOU LISTEN TO ME! I DON'T CARE IF THE CRIME RATE IS DOWN 8%! VIGILANTISM IS A _CRIME!_ NOT TO MENTION ALL THE COSTUMED _WEIRDOS_ COMING OUT OF THE WOODWORKS SINCE _SPIDER-MAN_ APPEARED!" A harsh voice howled out, echoing through the handful of cubicles on the floor and not at all disturbing the workers within them.

And just like that, the spell was broken, and Laura's expression once more turned carefully downward into the unhappy scowl she had found best warded off question or concern. Then she quickly followed Lance out of the elevator before it could close on her.

Lance stared incredulously at the large office on the far side of the cubicle filled area, where glazed glass walls and a solid wooden door obscured took up a large portion of the area. The black outline of a person cast against the wall by the morning sun playing out against the glass, stomping back and forth across its surface area in time to the steady stream of insults and factoids that were being belted out through the office.

"Give it a minute before you knock. This is pretty normal for him." A tired looking and dark skinned man with hair that was quickly turning grey said to Lance from on of the cubicles without actually looking up or acknowledging his presence.

"It is?" Lance asked incredulously. He had met insane lords bent on ranting about their plans to rain down _literal_ hell on earth that maintained a more level tone of voice than this. He had encountered _dragons_ that were more measured than this _while he was killing them._ Listening to the man continue to rant and rave Lance could almost convince himself that not having to take a breath was his superpower.

"SO DON'T TELL ME SPIDER-MAN IS A HORRIBLE ISSUE TO CAMPAIGN ON BECAUSE I ASSURE YOU, YOUR WRONG!" The man finally finished, followed by the sharp thwack of a plastic phone being slammed into its receiver. Choosing to head the advice he had been given, Lance walked towards the door, which upon closer inspection looked very expensive, and had a gold plate reading 'J. Jonah Jameson' on it attached to it, and counted to twenty before knocking.

When no answer was forthcoming he counted to ten, then tried again.

This time there _was_ an answer, though it was significantly _ruder_ than he was expecting.

"WELL?! YOU GONNA COME IN OR NOT?!" Yelled the man in the office, clearly not interested in opening the door himself to show them in. Lance felt his eye twitch at the indignity of it all. He was not suited for politics, or length discussions with men like J. Jonah Jameson. His honesty often pushed him to say things that were much more likely to destroy an alliance than cement one, _especially_ when so obviously antagonized.

Pushing the door open, Lance found an office that was well organized as it was self aggrandizing. Every available surface seemed to be covered with awards or certificates. Some places had framed newspaper clippings in them, no doubt in memory of particularly important events in the Bugles history. In the center of the room was a large and heavy oak desk that had on it a computer, a lamp, a phone, and a stack of papers that the man sitting at it was carefully sorting through.

The man himself, Lance found, looked exactly as severe as he sounded. His well lined face was set in a permanent scowl, and his perfectly trimmed salt and pepper hair was more reminiscent of a soldier than a business owner. He was dressed in a plain white dress shirt with short sleeves, and a blue tie that flared out to be much thicker at the bottom than it was at the top. An expensive looking golden wristwatch adorned one hand, and a cigar so large that Lance had a hard time figuring out how one would even smoke it was suspended from the mans mouth, clenched between his teeth like the pin of a grenade.

" , I've come hear to-" Lance began but was interrupted when the man reach into one pocket and threw a clip of bills at him. He stared in surprise at it as it bounced off his stomach and landed on the floor by his feet before looking back up at the man who had thrown it in confusion.

"Large coffee and a bagel." Jameson growled, not bothering to look up from his work.

"... I'm not sure I-" Lance started again, his temper quickly rising as he was forced to slam his hands down on Laura's shoulders to prevent her from charging past him.

"What? The fucking coffee get more expensive or something? I bet the prices went up because these costumed _freaks_ keep destroying the warehouses for the stuff when they fight. Here. Get yourself something nice. Also is it bring your kid to work day or something?" Jameson grumbled, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing yet another clip of money to throw at them. By this point, the only thinking preventing Jameson from noticing Laura's claws was the fact the he hadn't actually looked a the pair of them once since they had entered the room. At best he seemed to be catching them in his peripheral vision as he worked, and his body language told Lance that he carried no intention of changing that.

"John. Jonah. Jameson." Lance ground out through gritted teeth.

"What _now?_ " The man asked, his voice beginning to grow louder as his annoyance rose. Lance was about to tear into him for being so rude to them, and _apparently_ for mistaking him for an _errand boy_ but a shape appearing in the large glass window at the rear of the office drew his attention away from such distractions.

Looking past Jameson, Lance found himself face to face with what appeared to be a man in a skintight green suit adhering effortlessly to the sheer surface of the building. His suit, which when Lance looked more closely at it, seemed almost like a layer of living chitin, appeared to be attached to a length green scorpion's tail that dance and twitched behind the strange man. For a precious few seconds the two of them stared at each other, Lance in confusion and the green man in shock, but then a malicious glee filled the mans eyes, and with a powerful thrust motion he exploded _through_ the glass window, sending shards of sharp material flying forward.

"Jameson! You! _You did this to me!_ " The man wailed, his voice a mix of manic glee and unholy rage. His tail thrashed about around him, destroying the walls and cabinets surrounding them, sending papers flying back and forth in an obscuring wave of white that was jostled about by the new breeze created by the now open face of the building.

Lance didn't need any more confirmation than _that_ , so he quickly increased the flow of Prana through his body enough to give him the strength and speed he felt he would need to fight. Just as he began to move, the green mans tail stopped behind him, pointed straight at the dumbstruck face of one J. Jonah Jameson.

"You _volunteered_ Gargan! Signed a waiver! Please, there's no need for this!" The dazed man retorted, apparently unable to think of anything better to do but aggravate his attacker.

"You didn't tell me that I would become _this_! Didn't tell me I could never go back! My life is _over_ Jameson! And now so is _yours!_ " Screamed the man who Lance now knew to be named Gargan. The scorpion stinger on the mans back thrust forward on a collision course with Jameson's head at a speed no human could possibly hope to react to. Jameson, the sole 'human' occupant of the room stared in shock at the back of the intern that had appeared before him, one hand firmly wrapped around the base of the stinger and straining to hold it back from his face. Jameson stared at the man - dressed completely normally, not covering his face or even bothering to wear a costume - as he faced into the morning sun, the golden light of day playing over his stern features as he shook with the effort of holding back the Mac Gargan, better know as the Scorpion.

It was the most heroic thing he had ever seen in his life, and he had done photography in _warzones_ way back in the day.

Lance saw things differently. He shouldn't, under _any_ circumstances be struggling this hard to hold this creature back. The problem didn't stem from weakness either. He was fully capable of throwing a punch that would kill the man instantly. The problem however was two fold. One, murder, he was given to understand, was not something random vigilante's were allowed to do, even if it _was_ for the greater good. Two, if he increased his strength and speed any higher than they currently were, then his every movement would cause damage to the building he was in, and there were simply too many innocents here for him to allow that.

So he held the oozing green stinger of the Gargan in one hand, and summoned his sword in the other.

"My friend, I feel you might have erred this day." He growled, turning slightly to capture Laura in the corner of his eye. Making sure she was looking at him, he flicked his gaze between her and Jameson, and she nodded imperceptibly at him before turning her attention on the awestruck man.

"Do you even know what kind of human _garbage_ your defending? The kind of _shit_ he's done?!" the Gargan screamed at him.

"Had he done something illegal I'm given to believe the _police_ would have handled him." Lance retorted, lifting his sword to slice at the tail in his hand and being unsurprisedd when it tugged free of his grip and returned to swaying behind his enemy in order to avoid the blow.

"The police?! The police in this town are _useless!_ Manhattan is the cape capitol of the _world_ you idiot! Ain't not cop gonna have the _balls_ to mess with the Scorpion!" the man howled before leaping towards Lance with a feral grin on his face. He was too focused on preventing the monsters forward motion to bother pointing out that the statement in no way refuted his own.

Quick as lightning, Lance lashed out, his sword flashing in an arc above him that forced back the scorpion tail as it attempted to plunge past him. Then the Scorpion was upon him, and he found himself taking a surprisingly tough blow to the chest that had him cursing in pain at his own physical constraints. Two more blows landed on his shoulder and face while he was busy deflecting blows from the tail, before finally he heard the tell tale sound of a door opening and people scrambling past it.

"No!" Scorpion screamed, attempting to leap bodily past Lance only to himself shoved roughly backward when Lance lashed out with a forward kick of his own that would have propelled the chitinous horror straight out the window had his tail not slammed into the floor to provide leverage. Pursing his lips in annoyance, Lance focused, summoning to his side his gleaming armor. No more did Lance Lake stand before the beast, but Sir Lancelot Du Lac, a man second to only one in skill at arms.

And he highly doubted that this man would compare favorably to Arturia.

There were no more words between them. The Scorpion no longer saw this armored man before him as a mere obstacle, and Lancelot Du Lac no longer found himself willing to overlook the danger the foul creature had placed his charge in. Of course he knew it was unlikely that Laura would be completely helpless against the thing - she seemed fairly impossible to hurt permanently. But he was entirely too familiar with _another_ woman who had relied too heavily on the ability to regenerate from any wound, and refused to see that kind of suffering mirrored in the girl he had taken under his wing.

Also, he supposed that J. Jonah Jameson deserved a chance to explain himself if nothing else.

Now assured that nobody else was in the room with him, or very likely the entire floor given the amount of shouting he was hearing as those who had been outside the office fled in search of safety, Lance sidestepped the next attack by the green man, sliding around his thrown fist and raising his sword into a guard position to deflect the stinger attack that followed close behind it. Then with a single downward stroke he severed the tail at the base, eliciting a terrible howl of pain from the main, who fury and strength only seemed to increase in response to the pain.

Lancelot could only roll his eyes at the tactic, or rather, the lack thereof. This was a man who lacked training. A man for whom combat boiled down purely to the exercise of superior physical capabilities over his enemies. When faced with someone who was physically his equal, but who had some actual training under there belt well... Lancelot was unimpressed to say the least.

Ducking under a wide haymaker, Lance shot up from his crouch, enduring a blow to his side as his enemy attempted to kick him a way. Undeterred by the momentary pain of the kick, Lancelot shifted his weight so that he wouldn't be knocked away by the attack, and then launched forward, tackling the Scorpion off his feet and sending him sprawling to the ground. Then, before the man could get up, he rammed Arondight straight through his leg and into the floor, leaving the guard of the weapon pressed against the Scorpions leg and the blade lodged perfectly in the center of the bone that resided there.

The Scorpion _howled_ in pain and terror, thrashing this way and that as he attempted to free himself, but it was to no avail. Arondight - much like Excalibur, or Caliburnn, Arondight was only ever meant for one hand to wield it. The blade would not be dislodged from it's position by any hand save his own, and right now Lancelot held no such intention. With a Grimm finality to him, he kneeled over the Scorpions body and punched him once in the temple. When he didn't immediately cease moving, Lancelot increase his strength slight, and repeated the motion. Again, and again and again - until he found the exact limits of the creatures durability - and then Mac Gargan, known the world over as the heinous criminal called 'The Scorpion', fell into blissful unconsciousness.

It was only once the task of subduing the beast was complete, that Lancelot allowed his armor and weapon to vanish from sight, becoming Lance Lake once more.

He spared one more cold glare for the monstrous man on the ground before him, before he turned to survey the room. It was a mess ofcourse, and likely completely unfit for use until the window was repaired. The desk was splintered in half by the thrashing of the Scorpions tail, but the phone that had rested on it appeared surprisingly intact. Gingerly lifting the receiver and it's base up, Lance tracked the little cable connecting the device to it's network across the room and into it's socket in the wall to ensure it still functioned. Then he lifted it up, and dialed 9-1-1.

"Hello? This is Lancelot Du Lac speaking. I hath subdued the villain." He said smoothly. He blamed television. Knights didn't speak like that even when he was _alive_ , so he had no idea why he was doing it now.

With a certain degree of resignation to him, Lance lifted what remained of Jameson's chair back onto it's wheels and sat down in it.

He had a feeling that this wasn't going to be a good day.

-ooo-

Lancelot was beginning to get annoyed.

He had been sitting in the police station for close to three hours now. He had been told that until such a time as it had been determined that he was not in league with the Scorpion (he had snorted at that but the officer had ignored it) he would be held at the police station. He tried not to hold it against the men and women in blue. If there was one thing he had come to understand about the modern age, it was the defending the laws of the land had become an increasingly bureaucratic and tedious task.

Besides, he respected the laws of the land but if they actually tried to put him in prison he would simply leave.

Still, the reason for his annoyance had much less to do with his current confinement to the little interrogation room he found himself in, and much more to do with the fact that he had neither seen nor heard from Laura since his subdual of the Scorpion, and he was beginning to worry about the poor girl.

He was just beginning to consider telling the people behind the mirror watching him that he knew they were there when a familiar voice began to vibrate it's way through the tremendous steal door of his room.

"...AND I TOLD YOU I'LL NOT HAVE IT! THAT MAN SAVED MY LIFE! I DON'T _CARE_ IF HE'S A VIGILANTE! GOOD SAMARITAN LAWS PEOPLE!" He heard through the door.

" we understand that you're grateful but that man is clearly dangerous! Who _knows_ what he was going to do with that girl!" a nasally voice responded, and Lance quickly tuned his hearing to be more sensitive so he could pay closer attention.

"THAT _GIRL_ SAVED MY LIFE! I'D SAY HE'S TEACHING HER JUST FINE!" Jameson retorted far too loudly, and Lance could actually feel the people nearest to the blowhard wince at the volume.

"Whatever your beliefs Jameson, the girl was an underage runaway, and _does not_ have the qualifications to adopt or take her in." The nasally voice said through gritted teeth.

"OH YEAH? I'VE GOT SOME PAPERS HERE FROM A FRIEND OF MINE THAT SAYS OTHERWISE! NOW LET ME SEE THE MAN!" Jameson crowed, followed by the slapping noise of a sheaf of papers being smacked into someones chest.

"What- but- you- " the nasally voice spluttered, before the door to Lance's room swung open to admit J. Jonah Jameson and a police officer who's uniform seemed more decorated than the others he had seen.

"What can I say Pike, I don't wear spandex but I do _know_ some people." Jameson said, beaming at Lance as he swept into the room. The blatant change in attitude from complete disregard to open smiling was a little difficult for Lance to stomach from the man, but given his current situation Lance wasn't sure he could complain.

" ." Lance said respectfully as the men entered, not bothering to acknowledge the officer who had decided to take an antagonistic stance against him. He wasn't going to _do_ anything to the man, he was perfectly aware that most of his points were valid after all. But that didn't mean he had to like him.

"Please! Call me John! Listen, I wanted to thank you for today. God knows what that maniac would have done if you weren't there!" Jameson said, laughing raucously at the statement and taking a seat in the only other chair in the room, directly opposite Lance at the table. The police officer - Pike - looked momentarily annoyed at being forced to stand, but took one look at the stack of papers in his hands and appeared to let the matter drop.

"Well then, John. Can you tell me what happened to Laura? I'm worried about her." Lance said eagerly, his impression of Jameson already slight improved by his graciousness.

"The girl right? I've got some papers here for you and then-" Jameson said slapping another stack of paperwork down on the table before being interrupted by the officer standing behind him.

"Actually , we had some questions about her. What was a destitute and single man such as yourself doing with an underage girl?" He said pointedly, shooting a glance towards Jameson that he returned with an annoyed glare. Lance considered the question for a second. He couldn't tell them about Laura's dubious past but if current events were all he had to explain...

"I found her in an alley with a man on my way to volunteer a few days ago." Lance said, allowing the subtext to speak for itself as both the men across the table from him winced at what he had said.

"I put a stop to it and invited her to the community center for some food. I think she followed me home afterwards and well... I was kind of hoping I could get her into school or therapy or something." Lance said honestly. Really school had been the only thing he'd had on his mind, not because the girl didn't need other forms of assistance but because he doubted there was anyone alive who would be capable of coping with her particular brand of trauma.

"Then why was she at the Bugle with you?" The officer pushed, and for the first time Lance noticed that he was sweating much more than the rooms temperature could account for.

"She asked to come with me when I left? You could just ask her you know." Lance snapped at the man.

"And why were _you_ at the Bugle?" The officer continued, and at this Jameson paused in his glaring at the man to turn towards him curiously.

"I had recently been portrayed unfavorably in the paper and wanted to speak to John about it." Lance said with a wince.

"So you were there because you had a bone to pick with him? A _grudge_ perhaps?" Pike jumped in triumphantly.

"What? No! I felt like I was being slandered so I wanted to see if I could convince him to retract what the paper said about me! _Using my words!_ " Lance retorted. He was beginning to feel very strongly that this man had some ulterior motive for keeping him here. A fact that was only supported by the slick grin that spread across his face as Lance spoke.

"A likely story. Lance Lake you are under arrest for the attempted murder of-" The officer began smugly.

"I wont be pressing charges." Jameson cut in dryly with a roll of his eyes.

" ! Please! It's obvious that he's just another jumped up mut- vigilante!" The officer growled, turned red in the face.

"Uhuh. Listen, Lance, I like to consider myself someone who understands the little people. Blue collar workers, and all that. And in all my years in this city full of whackjobs, I have never _once_ seen one of those costumed _freaks_ stick around for the police." Jameson said, putting his hands together and pointing both of his index fingers at him meaningfully.

"I looked into you. Volunteer at a homeless shelter. Work hard even if the jobs you get are terrible. No criminal record. Lance, _you,_ are the type of person this city needs. No costume, no mask, no stupid code name. Just a good man doing what he can." Jameson continued.

"Thank you but... I'm not sure this has to do with my question." Lance said cautiously. He wasn't _entirely_ devoid of the social graces. He could tell when someone was trying to soften him up.

"Right. Well you see, the child protective services took her the second they police arrived. The only way your seeing her again is if we push the paperwork through for you to adopt her. Which!" He said, tapping a finger on the stack of paperwork in front of him.

"Would go pretty poorly in a court of law provided you didn't have a stable job, or character references."

Lance stared at the contract in front of him pensively. True he had been going to try and find work, but he been sort of hoping to avoid being press ganged into it. He supposed he just had to remind himself that 'exploding through the wall and running away with his squire' was and probably would _always_ be, an option.

"And I suppose you can provide both of those?" Lance said, his eyes flicking between Jameson and Pike suspiciously. The officer looked like he had just eaten a lemon whole. His face was bright red and his lips were puckered as if he wanted to scream, but his every attempt to intrude on the conversation was being ignored by the steely faced journalist.

" _Exactly._ Plus, I _do_ owe you. And it pays to have connections." Jameson said smugly, sticking a finger into the layers of paperwork and lifting it slightly so that only Lance could see what lay beneath. It was only for a second, but a photocopy of what looked like _government I.D_ with Laura's picture on it was visible just at the bottom of the page. Something Lance was sure that neither he nor the girl _actually had_ given the extra legal nature of their mutual arrival in the city.

And having it would open, oh so many doors to Lance.

Lance stopped to consider things for a moment. True that man - Nick Fury - had wanted him to join whatever organization _he_ had been running, but did Lance really _want_ to get involved in fighting every multicolored moron who decided to disrupt the status quo? Couldn't he help just as much here, protecting the defenseless and fighting back those who would prey on people like Laura for their own game? It wasn't the ground shaking responsibility he had once carried but... he felt like he might just be okay with that.

With a sigh and a nod, he stretched his hand out to take the pen that his J. Jonah Jameson was offering him, smiling from ear to ear with the kind of glee his weathered and cracked faced was never meant to display. He allowed himself to remember his own earlier thoughts about Jameson's chances of a bad encounter with an angry superhuman and snorted before accepting and signing on the dotted line.

And just like that, his Squire became Laura Lake, and Sir Lancelot Du Lac became the bodyguard to the most hated man in New York.

What could go wrong?

 **-ooo-**

 **Yo! So I got another chapter of this up. Sorry I've been on a Worm kick. Sue me.**

 **So, in response to HalflingRunner asserting that Laura would never end up as a hooker. That's not fanfiction, I didn't make that up, x-23 was literally a hooker for years to a pimp named Zebra Daddy in the comics. The Nyx mini series by Joe Quesada is explicitly the origin of this aspect of her character. Try to remember that after her whole life imploded around her, Laura basically shut down on an emotional level. She didn't really care what happened to her and couldn't easily just** ** _kill herself_** **because you know, regeneration. If it helps your peace of mind, she's probably more inclined to kill dealers and pimps explicitly BECAUSE of this experience.**

 **Was it fucked up? Yes. And that's the point. The period of time covered by Nyx is the lowest point in Laura's entire life and it shows.**

 **Also yes the Scorpion would be able to hurt Lancelot if Lancelot actually has to worry about collateral damage. A quick check shows the Scorpion is capable of lifting up to 15 tons. Yeah he isn't exactly as fast or skilled as a Servant, but in a situation where Lance is pretty much forced to stand still and keep his strength down to a manageable level, the Scorpion has a fair shot at at least inconveniencing him. Obviously Lancelot is stronger than MOST of Spiderman's Rogues Gallery, and people who noticed his jab at Iron Man not being on the throne please be appeased by the fact that Im perfectly aware of how arrogant he's being. I mean, there are definitely TONS of characters in the Marvel Universe that would land on the Throne after death. But the thing is that's** ** _after death_** **.**

 **Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this, because I wrote it in a fit of insomnia. If there are alot of grammar or spelling errors you can blame it on my lack of sleep.**

 **Oh and as always,**

 **Thanks for Reading.**


	7. Issue 7 - Triggers

Lance shifted, lifting his right foot, and left heel, then using the bare minimum force to pivot around the flash of flickering steel that zipped past him.

As quick as the first strike arrived, two more followed, each one aimed at his waist - where a manilla folder was bound awkwardly to his side.

Dodging each blow with the same ease as the first, Lance waited for the rhythm of the strikes to pause - then muscles tensing, he struck. Lashing out with the simple forward kick he had always favored, he planted his foot directly in his attackers sternum, launching them into the opposite wall of the room.

"Better, but you're still fighting like an animal. You have built in swords - you should be better at wielding them than this." Lance chided pleasantly before pulling the envelop at his waist up to fan at himself.

" _Graaaaaaah_!" Laura screeched from her position lodged in the blue mat that had cushioned her impact on the wall. Her hands and feet- which were both bare - flexed and twitched, sending the paired claws in each appendage in and out in time with the movement.

Lance was actually quite impressed. It had been nearly two weeks since John had hired him, even offering a generous cash advance on his first cheque so that he could relocate himself and Laura closer to the Bugle.

He had been training Laura to fight whenever he had time away from standing aimlessly behind his boss for hours. When they had first started, his Squire had quickly demonstrated the short sightedness of her makers.

It wasn't that she lacked training or conditioning. She had those in spades. No, the problem Lance was encountering was that she was 'trained' to fight like every attack was a suicide dive, and she was 'conditioned' to dog her target with all the fury and belligerence of a badger.

This meant that if they spent more than half an hour training, Laura would quickly devolve into a snarling demon that he had to hold still just to prevent her from trying to tear his head off.

Honestly, the fact that she was just laying still and twitching was a vast improvement.

Lance waited patiently for Laura to finish her fit, idly wondering if this could be considered child abuse. He couldn't help it though - her entire fighting style was based around her regeneration. Every attack she made was intended to be an instant kill, and her stance was so full of openings to abuse, that he was genuinely surprised the first time she had tried to dodge something.

Granted, that had been less than three days ago, after days of repeated bludgeoning...

"You're doing much better now. Would you like to stop?" Lance asked cordially, trying to keep the amusement out of his voice as he continued to fan himself lightly.

"Again." Laura growled, pushing herself up and taking a ready stance.

Lance smiled at the fiercely determined girl. Since he had begun training her, he had levied increasingly prohibitive limits on her. His most recent challenge was for her to separate the rope belt from him - without cutting him.

For anyone else, the prospect of training with a fully unleashed Laura and her adamantium claws would be borderline suicidal. For Lance it was mostly just a nice warmup.

"Alright. Last chance though. You can't just growl at me to avoid your first day if you lose." He said pointedly, waving the envelope he was holding at her. Naturally, his squires only response was a growl.

Under normal circumstances, Laura would have already finished her training regimen for the day. The house Jameson had helped Lance purchase was modest enough that there really wasn't much room in its basement for much more than the open space they were currently using to fight. And that was _after_ Lance had knocked all the walls out.

Today however was different. Today, he had challenged Laura to destroy or take the Manila envelope he was currently taunting her with. Because contained within it, were all the neccesary papers to have her placed at the nearest highschool.

Lance hadn't thought much of it at the time, but Laura apparently took an extremely _dim_ view of a normal education. When she had found out she would be going to school and not assisting Lance in his duties she had scowled and refused to speak to him for the better part of a day.

Which brought him to now.

Lance knew that there was no reality where his squire defeated him in combat of any sort. Forget the use of his superhuman capabilities, he was fairly certain he could take Laura even if he _was_ a normal man.

Deciding to change tactics slightly, Lance patiently waited for Laura to initiate the attack. Of her many flaws, perhaps the most noticeably was her distinct lack of patience. Lance knew that if he just waited long enough, she would-

With what would be blinding speed to a normal person, Laura lanced forward, her entire body tilted towards her erstwhile mentor with the same rigid lethality of an arrow in flight. Her arms were pulled back and her claws were fully extended in what would inevitably become two powerful forward thrusts.

Lance snorted, turned slightly, and then stepped forward just as she began to extend her arms. The timing of the movement was such that by the time Laura had registered his change in strategy, he had already placed himself too close to her to be cut by her claws.

All that happened in the first second. By the second, Lance had brought his knee up, and allowed Laura's own moment to carry her face directly into it.

A sharp crack rang out as his squire collided with his reinforced body. Her head snapped backwards, and her body - hit subject to any other force but her own forward momentum - continued on.

The result would have been extremely comical if it wasn't also extremely lethal. A normal person would have broken their neck as a result of that strike - even one of the much more hardy people that had walked the earth in _his_ time. Laura however, was at no such risk. Obviously the strike would have hurt, probably more so than anything else Lance had done to her today, but Laura's body contained within it two very special properties.

First, she could heal from _anything_.

Her head, which had been bent at a funny angle began to twitch and pop, as the tendons in her neck that had been torn realigned and repaired themselves. Her hands twitched along the floor before one of them shot out to grasp Lance's work boots, squeezing so hard that he was pretty sure she was _trying_ to hurt him.

And second, her bones were - as far as Lance could tell - indestructible. This meant that the blow to her skull, which even without much effort behind it should have effectively caved her head in, had done nothing more than rattle her brain around slightly.

Lance stared down at Laura as she recovered, a mixed look of pride and discomfort on his face. Laura, of all the people he had encountered in this world, had _potential_. The problem was, that potential was far too reminiscent of another hero he had once served under. Arturia, while she bore that sacred scabbard of Excalibur known as Avalon, was functionally immortal. She would regenerate from any wound that wasn't lethal within seconds, and Lancelot had even had chance to witness her entire _heart_ regrowing itself on one occasion. The only weakness of this healing, this _immortality_ , was that if her head was ever sufficiently damaged, she would die before her body could be healed.

And here, laying on the ground beneath him and leveling a baleful teenage glare at him, was someone who bore those some traits, and _none_ of the weaknesses. A part of the reason Lance was so insistent on Laura going to school and having what passed for a normal life was the fact that a small part of him felt as if raising her up to be his equal could only result in suffering. Suffering, loneliness, and eventually - betrayal. Just like his King.

"So! You've passed the equivalency tests. We've signed the paper work. Tomorrow, you are going to school." Lance said blithely, stepping away from his Squire and waiting for her to stand. Despite knowing she couldn't actually suffer them for very long, his eyes still swept over her, seeking injuries. Medical sciences and training methods weren't as advanced in his time as now, and he would freely admit that many a knight had accidentally injured a Squire beyond mundane help before Agravain had standardized things.

She was wearing baggy sweat pants and a hoodie, so most of her was blessedly covered, but as her claws retracted and she rose he noticed small red slits in her knuckles quickly healing over. It irked him that so much of Laura's training and modification seemed to be based on her healing ability. Anyone else would have bled out from the wounds her own claws created. Glancing up at her face, which was still firmly set in a scowl, he noticed the last vestiges of a fairly sizeable bruise fading from sight.

He of course, was wearing his work outfit. Steel toed boots, jeans, and a flannel shirt that he had rolled up to his elbows. It wasn't exactly a suit and tie, but when he had asked Jameson if he should procure a set for himself the old man had merely waved him off, claiming that he preferred Lance's 'blue collar' look over a jumped up suit. Lance would have argued the point - being very well aware that the resplendence of ones armor could be it's own deterrent, but the _cost_ of one of those constricting and impractical garments precluded him from doing so.

The sheer amount of food he could purchase for the cost of a single _good_ suit had caused all the blood to rush from his face as he paled.

"School's a waste. I already know math." Laura growled, her eyes flicking towards the envelope at his waist.

"But can you socialize? Do you have _friends_? Do you not wish to be a wife some day? Hold a profession?" Lance pointed out, already knowing what she would say in response but not really knowing what else he _could_ say.

"Yes. No. No. Yes." She said in quick succession. Laura was still just a bit on the quiet side most of the time, but she always became more chatty - and by extension, more sarcastic - after they had sparred for the day.

"I have undergone days of assimilation training, I can blend in with any group and was taught all the ways to please-" She complained, crossing her arms in front of her petulantly.

"Ah! No! Stop!" Lance blurted, raising his arms to form a large X shape in protest.

"Come on Laura, it's not the same and you know it." Lance chided tiredly, glancing up at the clock on the wall and trying to determine how long it would take him to reach work that morning.

"But I don't _need it!_ I can help you! I'm your _Squire!_ " Laura continued to complain. She said the word 'squire' with an odd kind of desperation to it, as though she had decided to pin her entire identity on the word in an effort to forget her past.

"Tell you what. Do good in school and you can come with me on the weekends okay?" Lance offered.

"...How good?" Laura said suspiciously, walking up to him as he turned to head up the stairs.

"How should I know? I never went to school!" Lance responded jovially.

Laura merely growled in response.

-ooo-

Working for Jameson had been weird at first. Despite how bombastic and generally crotchety the man was, he seemed to have an almost split personality when it came to dealing with things he appreciated and things he didn't.

Lance had expected to come to work on his first day and be forced to stand behind the man for hours as he screamed his way into an early grave. He had been swiftly disabused of that notion when he arrived to work that day and walked into his office only to find him sliding on a long coat and crunching away at his unlit cigar.

 _'Where are we going uh... sir?' Lance had said, forcing himself - just barely - to avoid saying 'my liege'._

 _'Anti-Mutant Rally.' Jameson had answered succinctly. Lance had paused at that, staring at the man before him and tensing slightly. He didn't know much about mutants on the whole, not in the modern age, but they had always sort of existed. In his time they had been called Changelings though, and the general consensus among the people was that they had been changed by interactions with the Fae - a concept Lancelot had felt both ironic and likely wrong at the time given his own origins._

 _'What?' Jameson said grouchily as he reached for the door and Lance made no move to follow._

 _'I was unaware of your stance on mutants.' Lance had said plainly._

 _'Eh? Oh. Listen Lance, journalism isn't about what we want, it's about what is. I'm gonna go down there with my shiny new bodyguard, take pictures of every idiot I can, and move on.' Jameson had growled, waving impatiently at Lance, who reluctantly began to trail behind him._

 _'But... why? I'm told many mutants are all but helpless...' Lance had said, trailing off. It was a half truth. He had been told that many_ _ **Changelings**_ _were all but helpless. A child who had the ability to change their hair color had no means of defending themselves beyond what any other child would, but most certainly would have a target painted on their back for their differences._

 _'Oh! You think- Lance, listen, I hate_ ** _superheroes_** _because they lack_ _ **accountability**_ _. Do you know how many of the morons Spider-Man stops end up in jail? Less than half! Why? Because when the only witness to your crime is a guy who refuses to stand in court, it's pretty damn easy to say you were assaulted for no reason!' Jameson barked, once again demonstrating an uncanny ability to make sense while simultaneously stating his point in the most unlikable way possible._

 _'But these poor mutants? Most of them haven't done a damn thing. They lynched a kid with webbed feet down in Illinois last week. And that just ain't right. So! If I end up standing between the mob and some kids, and my_ _ **bodyguard**_ _has to protect me, what's there to be done?' Jameson finished, with a savage grin that left Lance temporarily dumbstruck. This man claimed to hate people that skirted the law, but he seemed_ _ **more**_ _than willing to do the same. It was so hypocritical it was almost funny._

 _And yet..._

 _'Lead the way sir.' Lance had said with a nod._

"Lance! You're making that face again! What did I tell you about thinking!?" Jameson rumbled at him, his voice (just barely) occupying a volume level that could be considered friendly.

"That you don't pay me to do it?" Lance answered with some amusement.

"Exactly! So! How's the kid? Still a little pain in the ass?" Jameson asked, looking away from him and allowing Lance the opportunity to walk around him to his position by the newly repaired window. It never ceased to amaze Lance at how his boss could care about how someone was doing, but phrase it in a way that implied the exact opposite.

"She's doing well sir. Starts school tomorrow." Lance offered, his eyes dutifully scanning the streets below. Upon taking up his duties one of the first things he had done was begin to research every possible threat to his employer. Manhattan really _was_ the spandex capitol of the country as far as he could tell. The sheer number costumed lunatics running around here would be enough to give Agravain fits. If it were up to him, he would have gathered a detachment of Knights and soundly put as many offenders to the sword as he could just to send enough of a message that the rest would leave.

His research had, of course, provided several pieces of information that he was significantly less than comfortable with. For one, so many of the local rogues gallery could fly, climb, or jump great distances that Jameson's window might as well have been an open door to most of them. For another thing, nearly no one with powers ever stayed in jail for very long. This meant that even if he _did_ prevent an attack on Jameson by someone like the Scorpion, that the man was likely to return on a bi-annual basis.

"School huh? You let me know if she has any trouble. Local news has been slow, there's room for an expose on bullying." Jameson grumbled, not once looking up at him.

Lance had to stifle a laugh at that. Laura? _Bullied?_ He pitied the kid that tried. She would tear them limb from...

Lance paused.

Laura would know better than to tear apart some kid for trying to take her lunch money wouldn't she?

He paused again.

He _had_ given Laura lunch money hadn't he?

He paused _again_.

"Sir?" Lance asked his boss tentatively, wincing when old chimney lungs turned to him and exhaled a puff of black smoke.

"What?" He asked, removing his cigar and tapping it once against the tray on his desk.

"I think I might be a terrible parent." Lance said honestly, allowing his mind to flash over all of his children, and recalling the alarming frequency with which he had merely left their care to his then wife. Jameson lifted a single bushy eyebrow at him before a rough chuckle escaped his throat and he returned to his work.

"Well, at least you know." He said, and then the room fell silent.

Suddenly, Lance was much more worried about his decision to send Laura to school than he had been.

-ooo-

Laura awoke in a bed that was too soft. No, scratch that, she awoke in a bed _at all_. It wasn't as though she had never slept in a bed before, but the bed she used at the facility where she was created had been of the hospital variety - cheaply made and designed to be utilitarian and replaceable. Add to that, they had rapidly stopped replacing her mattress when they realized how frequently she would destroy them in her sleep. She couldn't help it - she was a child with retractable claws having nightmares about the hellish surgery they put her through regularly. What did they _think_ was going to happen to her?

But returning to the point. Her bed. It was too soft. A tiny part of her mind listed all of the reasons that a particularly cushy bed was a tactical error. It would be difficult to rise from in the event of a surprise attack. It would provide for poor footing in the event that she had to use it to maintain a higher ground than her opponents. It was expensive and she was liable to destroy it before the week was out.

Shoving all those thoughts to the side, she rose from her resting place, one hand stretching out to steady herself on the little side table Lance had provided her with. She glanced around the room warily, searching for traps or surveillance equipment. She knew intellectually that there wouldn't be any - but that didn't mean her old training and conditioning would be any less dominant in the way she saw the world. The room was curiously cluttered. A plain brown carpet covered the floor, and her bed was situated in one corner as far away from the single window and door into the room as she could manage. She had originally tried to convince Lance that the closet was the safest place to sleep - since she would be alerted by the sound of any intruders without being immediately visible to them - but Lance had vetoed the request, stating that the closet was for clothes and nothing else.

To the right of her bed and small side table sat a second hand dresser that Lance had purchased for her, placing all of the clothes she had chosen for herself within it, as well as several that he had apparently purchased for her himself while he was at work one day. The man confused her to no end. Her training had been very clear on the most effective clothing for her to wear. She didn't need armor because her bones were indestructible and her soft tissue would heal in a matter of seconds should she be injured. She was also _literally_ made to be attractive. Her healing factor meant she never had a chance of developing in any way that wasn't ideal for her body type. All these things combined meant that tight fitting clothes with little surface area were the most effective for her. They allowed her the greatest freedom of movement, had the lowest chance of getting caught on something mid battle, and had the greatest chance of distracting a male opponent.

Lance apparently didn't hold the same views as her unfortunately. Not that he ever tried to _stop_ her from dressing most efficiently.

Speaking of clothes. She should probably dress herself. The clock read 6:03 am, which meant she could expect the be in the basement sparring in just under thirty minutes or so. She knew she had grown lax in the environment Lance had provided - having woken up slightly later every day until this point, wherein she was only just barely awake in time to fulfill her duties. But for reasons she couldn't explain she was more or less okay with that.

Not that she would ever voice that opinion aloud. Mentioning a problem was, in Laura's experience, the fastest way to _become_ a problem. Something she could never allow herself to be. Not to Lance at least.

Sliding from her bed, Laura dressed quickly in a pair of jeans and a black shirt, twisting slightly as the metal hoops built into her bra dug into her skin. She had tried to convince Lance that she didn't need one of _these_ either but had _again_ been vetoed.

She wanted to sigh at that but couldn't find it in herself to do so. Instead, she simply padded down the stairs to where Lance was, already sat at his dining room table and eating a bowl of cereal. A copy of the Daily Bugle was on the table, and he was carefully paging through it as he ate, though he did raise his head and acknowledge her arrival with a quick nod before going back to what he was reading.

Which was annoying. She had been _trying_ to sneak up on the man. He had made the off hand joke that she almost certainly couldn't do so several days ago and her professional sensibilities had been somewhat more than bothered by it. She knew he wasn't being malicious about it, but that actually made it worse. He wasn't even really _trying_ to catch her most of the time. He just _knew_ where she was.

"Morning." He said in a relaxed tone, making sure he looked up and made eye contact when he spoke with her.

"Mmm." She grumbled irritably, walking around him to pull a bowl from the cupboard and filling it with her own breakfast cereal of choice. One could assume that between the box of Wheaties and the box of brightly colored marshmallow laden cereal in the cupboard, the more responsible food would be Lances, and the more childish one would be Laura's.

Not so. Laura briefly wondered if Lancelot had ever had the concept of nutrition explained to him, then reasoned that no, he probably hadn't. She wasn't even sure if 'nutrition' was a word that existed at the same time as Arthurian legend.

The pair ate their breakfast largely in silence. Laura appreciated that about Lance. He wasn't overly chatty. True he made the effort to communicate with her and keep her updated on where he was going to be or what he expected her to be doing, but he never wasted time talking needlessly. If there was something to be said, he said it, and if there wasn't - he didn't.

"Laura?" The knight said after they had finished eating, and she had taken to waiting patiently for their daily trip into the basement for training. She wouldn't call the sensation excitement - she doubted she was ever really going to be able to muster up all that much of _that_ particular feeling anymore. No, it was with a sort of quiet anticipation that she sat. Training had been a part of her daily life for an overwhelming majority of her existence, and even if she had recently lacked handlers to put her through her paces she found an odd comfort in it's return to her normal functioning.

Laura quickly eyed the clock on the wall, wondering why Lance had insisted on installing one in every single room in the house. 6:23. Roughly seven minutes before the usually scheduled training time. Carefully clamping down on the impulse to bounce her foot, she turned towards Lance and tilted her head towards him, acknowledging the question without having to actually speak. She did this less because she was opposed to talking, and more because of how novel she found it that Lance seemed not to really require her to fully explain herself in order to understand what she meant. The facility where she had been made had been run like a military outfit. If she was spoken to she was expected to acknowledge that she had understood and was complying as loudly and succinctly as possible. Lance provided a welcome change of pace to that.

"I don't think it's a good idea to wear... those... to school today." Lance said, wincing slightly as his gaze flickered down to her state of dress. She blinked once in response. Right. School. That was... a thing she would have to suffer through today. Possibly for a few days. She had no idea what Lancelot wanted her to do there except 'attend' and no matter how much she pointed out how much of a waste of time a so called 'education' would provide, he never seemed willing to produce a better explanation of her mission so...

She looked down at her shirt and jeans before looking back up at the knight, once more not bothering to verbalize what she wanted to get across.

"It's just... very tight? And I can see your belly button. And men at that age can be... grabby." Lance said, nervously sliding the coffee mug in his hand from side to side.

Ah. This again. Yes it was tight. That was the point. It was less likely to get caught on something, and if it did it was _more_ likely to just tear and no longer be an issue. Not that she felt the need to come right out and say all that. Lance was a legendary fighter of a bygone age who had become a legend for his skill at arms. He regularly bludgeoned her unconscious with his hands and feet using no more strength than a normal human could muster. The idea of her correcting him in any way shape or form on combat doctrine just seemed silly to her.

Plus she was pretty sure contradicting your knight was bad form for a squire? She would have to do some research on the topic.

"They're comfortable." She said stubbornly in lieu of any of the other thoughts shooting through her head.

"Just... promise me you wont use your claws on anyone okay? Or maim someone. Or kill anyone." Lance said tiredly, clearly giving up on his original point.

"...Unless someone tries to get your clothes off, or kidnap you. Then do any or all of those things." He added, almost as an after thought.

Having not actually received actual _orders_ prior to this with regards to her attendance at school, Laura dutifully committed these bits of information to memory. Her eyes darted to the clock again, and her fingers flexed imperceptibly when it occurred to her that that it was not 6:31. That was one minute of training time wasted.

Apparently having detected her ire, Lance looked up at the clock and then winced apologetically at her.

"Maybe let's skip training today alright? Jameson wanted me to come in early for something today." He apologized quickly, downing the rest of his coffee in one singular gulp and rising from the table.

Suddenly, Laura was finding her prospects for the day very, very dark indeed. How was this fair? She did _everything_ she was asked. She was even considering changing into one of those stupid oversized sweaters Lance always insisted she wear when leaving the house. And yet, now that the _only thing_ she had been interested in doing since waking up had been yanked out from under her, she found herself far less interested in compliance.

Her eyes narrowed as she tracked Lance across the room, watching with thinly veiled annoyance as he withdrew a backpack from somewhere and began to stuff it with odds and ends. Notebooks, pencils, erasers. When he was done he placed the bag in front of her, along with two other objects that she slowly turned to inspect, making sure to keep an eye on her knight as she did so.

On the whole, Laura wasn't one to throw a 'tantrum'. She could - she knew that - but her tenuous control over her emotions usually meant that 'tantrum' and 'murderous flailing' were not typically as far apart as many people would like on her emotional spectrum. So instead, she stared. Angrily.

Lance shuffled from foot to foot with an apologetic look on his face as she stared at him, before clearing his through and pointing at the table in front of her.

"I got you a wallet and a cellphone. Well, Jameson got you the cellphone, but you know. My work number should be in there already?" He said, his statement turning into a question towards the end as she picked both objects up to examine them. She disliked them both immediately of course. For one, neither one would fit in her pockets - mostly because whoever had designed these pants obviously just added them as decorations with no space to put anything in them. Carrying them on her person would necessitate she change into one of the baggy sweat pants Lance had gotten her. Something she was sure he both knew and had intended.

Unfortunately for him, Laura was a fan of malicious compliance.

Nodding once at him in acknowledgement of the gifts, she opened her new bag and dumped the two objects in it, not even bothering to open or check the wallet or the cellphone.

This apparently, was enough to get Lancelot to crack. For a man who she had seen absorb bullets with little to no worry, he was surprisingly easy to push. She wasn't sure if she liked that. What if he was captured and put to torture? No he would just kill his way out... but what if _she_ was captured and put to torture? She had been trained to withstand such things, but she had no doubt that Lancelot would capitulate should it ever come to pass. He was weak that way.

"Hey uh, we can train as long as you want tonight okay? After school. And _only_ if you actually go." He said, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She was simultaneously pleased and annoyed at this turn of events. On the one hand, training was good. On the other hand - she had fully been intending to just loiter near the school until such a time as she could leave.

"Aw come on Laura, don't pout, I'm sure you'll make tons of friends okay?" He offered, laughing at her.

She was _not_ pouting. Her facial expression hadn't even _twitched_ let alone changed. She was very firmly _scowling -_ like any good assassin should. It wasn't her fault that Lance interpreted it that way. Although, she was supposed to be a squire now. Did _squires_ pout?

Still, remembering that she was, in fact, unhappy with Lance right now, she still felt the need to explain her definitive lack of a pout but never got the chance. Lance had already darted out into the hallway to put his boots on and head to work.

"Have a good day Laura!" he called before escaping out the front door.

And then it was just her - alone in the house. It never ceased to amaze Laura how little Lance did to ensure she didn't just... leave. She wouldn't of course - that would be stupid. But really, the man had no _leverage_ on her.

Well he could kill her on a whim she guessed but still.

Sighing over the conundrum that was her benefactor, she spent the better part of the morning exercising, leaving for school as late as she could possibly manage. She found the idea that she might miss the scheduled time for entry and therefore be barred to be particularly heartening.

So it was that she was doggedly walking towards the address she had been told to go to, when a man in a wheel chair turned a corner in front of her and stopped. This man, she recognized him. He was at Lance's apartment the day they went to see Jonah! Her claws got an inch out of her fists before she recalled Lances warning from breakfast.

' _No claws. No maiming. No killing.'_ She thought sullenly. It was unfortunate but she would have to resort to a different means of resolving her current conflict.

"What." She said bluntly, stopping just far enough away from the man that she would be able to leap at him in an instant should he prove hostile.

 _'Kidnapping. Stealing my clothes.'_ She recited in her head, over and over like a mantra, the words an easy way to hold back her instinctual need to tear apart anything she viewed as threatening.

"Miss Lake I believe? My name is Charles Xavier, and I believe we've met once before." The balding man in the overly complex yellow wheelchair said politely, smiling at her. He probably assumed that his smile was reassuring, but all Laura could see in it was the same fake reassurance the doctors would give her before each procedure. Before each surgery. Before each _tissue extraction_. _Before each_ _experiment._

As though sensing the murderous direction her thoughts were taking the smile fell away from the mans face and he hurried to continue.

"Ehem. I was hoping I could convince you to introduce me to your father. You see, I run a school for the gifted - children like you who have special abilities. There are many in the world who view people like you and I as-" He continued on, rushing to get to his point. Unfortunately for him, Laura didn't particularly care, because he had demonstrated two things about himself that Laura loathed. One, he wanted her for her powers - which she'd had quite enough of in the lab she was born in. And two; he wanted her to go to a school.

"Don't care." She grumbled at him, stepping out into the road so she could walk around him without getting close enough for him to attempt to grab her. She didn't really mind if he tried - that would just give her the justification to fight back - but she doubted Lance would appreciate being dragged from work to remove her from the police station.

"Listen kid, you should hear the egghead out." Growled a deep resonant voice that sparked something in her. Something... feral.

 _'Kidnapping. Stealing my clothes.'_ She repeated, hardening her resolve and taking another step without looking towards the voice.

"Hey ya brat, I'm telling you to wait." Growled the voice again, rapidly drawing closer. Close enough that she could _smell_ it's owner.

 _'Kidnapping. Stealing.'_

She couldn't think. She couldn't breathe. She needed to go or she was going to do something she shouldn't. She sped up, walking as fast as she could while pulling her bag off of her back. As quickly as she could she withdrew the phone lance had given her, and fumbled desperately at the unfamiliar lock screen.

"Hey!" The voice said again, and she could _feel_ with every ounce of her being as he came to a halt behind her. She wasn't afraid of him. Quite the opposite. Every cell in her body, every fiber of her being was telling her that this was a man she _had_ to kill.

 _'Kidnapping. St-ste..'_

Not just kill. _Destroy, completely and utterly._ Of the many, many uses her creation served, this, she knew, was the most important of all. Something she had been programmed to do. With drugs. With gene therapy. With as many methods of brainwashing and torture as one could imagine. _She had to kill this man_.

 _"Laura? are you okay?"_ Lance's voice called through the phone that was only just barely held in her hands.

A thick, meaty hand clapped down on one of her shoulders, and she turned towards it's owner.

 _'Kid...nap...'_ She thought, struggling against the hormonal cocktail of preprogrammed homicidal rage that was flooding through her.

"Listen bub, we just wanna talk. Why don't you come with us alright? We'll get you a sippy cup or somethin'" The man said with barely restrained annoyance. He was... short. Shorter than most men she knew at least. And hairy. Probably hairy than anyone she could think of. But most importantly, he had said the magic words.

'Why don't you come with us'

 _'Kidnapping!'_ She howled internally as her conscious mind and her unconscious desires aligned themselves, freeing her of any restraint she could muster.

 _"Laura? Laura are you there?!"_ came Lance's voice from the ground where her bag and phone now lay in a puddle.

It was the last conscious thought she really had before she found herself leaping at the man, with all eight of her claws fully extended and a feral yowl ripping itself free of her throat.

-ooo-

What a morning. First Jonah had made him come to work early so he could introduce Lance to his 'star photographer' - which, wow was that awkward. Then, because of the timing of it all, he missed his morning practice with Laura - which, going by her expression and well, the _growling_ , she was not best pleased by.

Seriously, what did a guy have to do? He had like two people in this life he really had to keep happy. Not that he was really complaining about the state of affairs as they currently stood. He was... what was the word, happy? Honestly, he hadn't felt so relaxed since he was an orphan living with the fae. And he had no idea why. He wasn't really achieving anything, Jonah hadn't been attacked by a supervillain since he had been hired, which was good because if it was a common occurrence that would just be terrible. He supposed that helping Laura get her life together sort of counted as a goal.

Maybe that was why he was so happy? He was free of the weight of the world, and allowed simply to apply himself to the pursuit of those smaller things that had escaped him in life?

Such were Lance's musings that day at the office - when his cellphone began to ring. He withdrew the device and, still unfamiliar with it, fumbled his way through the password protected lock screen to answer.

"Laura? Are you okay?" He asked, happy to have something to distract him from his thoughts.

 _"...come with us alright?"_ he heard an unfamiliar voice reply.

"Laura? Laura are you there!?" He asked again urgently, but received no reply save a feral scream he had become _very_ familiar with over the last two weeks.

"John!" Lance yelped, turning towards his boss who was sending him a curious looking from behind his desk.

"Yeah yeah. Take the rest of the day off." He said, waving a hand through the air as if to clear the air.

"Thanks!" he managed, as he sprinted for the door and subsequently, the stairwell.

"Don't thank me! I'm not paying you for it!" Jameson scowled as he exited. Lance was thankful all the same. He'd worked on construction sights that would have fired him for leaving like this.

He increased the flow of prana through his body as much as he dared, dashing to the stairwell and then increasing his strength even further when he arrived, in order to leap to the landing on the roof. He barely registered the locked door leading outward as he barreled through it, sending it flying off it's hinges. The second he laid eyes on the sky, he summoned his armor, pointed himself towards his home, and leapt.

For just the briefest fraction of a second, he increased his power, launching himself from the roof - likely at the expensive of whoever happened to be directly beneath him on the next floor down. The strength of the jump was enough that the world began to blur around him, and he came crashing down on another rooftop several blocks away.

He didn't stop. He didn't wait, he didn't even _pause_ to consider the damage his passing must be doing to the buildings he was leaping from. He just plowed forward, turning the thirty minute commute into a two minute one using nothing but his own superhuman abilities.

"Laura!" He yelled out as he touched down in his front yard, handily killing literally every plant in it and shattering the glass windows of his home. Leaping to his roof he look outward, scanning the streets within view until he caught a flash of movement that didn't match up with the usual morning traffic. Once more he took off, taking only slightly more care to ensure he didn't destroy his own dwelling.

He landed like a meteor, skidding to a halt he turned to survey the scene. There was a bald man who he vaguely recognized having tried to avoid earlier - watching him with a mix of confusion and hope. There was a short hairy man with claws like Laura's, growling like a mad beast. And there was Laura...

Hanging from his claws like a puppet with it's strings cut.

His _squire_ and legally speaking, his _daughter_ , hanging limp from the claws of this _thing_.

Without thought, he moved. His passing expelling a blast of air that pushed the wheelchair bound man to the side, and shattered the concrete he had stood on. In contrast to how he had left, he arrived at Laura's side so gently that the man who had presently _eviscerated her_ could only glance at him in enraged confusion as he gently grabbed the girl about the middle with both hands - and then _kicked the beast that had hurt her so hard he was fairly certain he exploded_.

"Logan!" yelped the man in the wheelchair with worry.

" **You**..." Lancelot Du Lac muttered, turning his attention away from Laura and towards the bald man. He could dimly, tell there was a voice in his head advising he stop, but he had so many of those at this point that one more didn't seem overly concerning. Still, he felt he should probably calm down. Already he could feel the balance of power shifting, hear the heavy iron chains that bound his Berserker grind slightly as their strength was tested.

He might even have succeeded, if not for the fact that the subhuman _thing_ , which he was just about positive he had _killed_ , leapt at him, snarling incoherently. At first he ignored it, more focused on calming down than fighting now that he had his squire safe in hand. He ignored it, and because he assumed that there was nearly nothing the average person could do to pierce his armor, or even his skin really, was both surprised and angered by the fact that the beasts claws swiped cleanly across his chest, tearing a line across his armor and wounding him.

And of course, there it was again. The voices. The yelling. _The grinding of chains_.

Before the creature could attack again, Lancelot moved again. Faster than any human being could ever hope to move, one black gauntleted hand stretched out, wrapping around his attackers face. He stepped forward and away from Laura, his face blank as his helmet formed.

And then he slammed the heinous _thing_ into the concrete, increased his power to it's maximum, and sprinted as fast as he could up the road. Cars were pushed aside, pavement shattered beneath his feet, and by the time he stopped, the only thing left of his attacker was his curiously hard to damage skeleton. A black shadow passed overhead but he didn't care. He had _never_ really cared. He had triumphed over his enemy as was his _right_ , and now he would go back and punish _anyone_ who considered the thing their ally.

"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅!" He screamed into the sky.

Right up until a brilliant beam of red slammed into him, pushing him back a step.

 **"▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅▃▄▄▅▅!"** He howled at the interlopers. The voices continued, screaming in the back of his mind for... for something.

But it didn't matter. There were people to kill.

 **-ooo-**

 **Here we go with this. I can't say I'm 100% on this chapter but it'll do. I once was told that it's best to just write and not look back if you have writers block - so that's what I'm doing.**

 **Some things. I'm aware that theres a sort of nebulous 'Mystery beats everything' rule to the Fate universe - I'm just going to ignore it because it would make Lancelot waaaaaaaaaay stronger than any non magical Marvel hero could manage. I'm also sort of settling for mostly following Marvel's rules for things, like Adamantium can cut and survive nearly anything. Obviously Wolverine isn't dead here, even if it seems he is, since his regeneration has shown him being able to basically come back from more or less anything including just being a skeleton. All things being relative though, Lancelot is basically a speedster in setting, and when I think of the most brutal way a speedster can try to kill someone 'friction' is pretty much the only thing that comes to mind.**

 **So for the Throne. Again, I'm just choosing to say that most of (there are exceptions) the Marvel Heroes don't exist on the thing. When you really examine it, EMIYA only really got on the Throne by making a deal with Alaya, everyone else who's on it (Grand Order doesn't count.) died during the Age of Heroes or what have you. I might get more into the details of how the Marvel universe interacts with the Throne when the Throne becomes more relevant to the plot, but as it stands it's not worth getting into.**

 **Mm, I think that's about it. Easy guess as to who got flown in when it became obvious Lancelot was going to murder Wolverine.**

 **OH and as always.**

 _ **Thanks for reading.**_


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